He glanced at her mouth, took a half step closer, and waited, because after staying away for days, the last thing Greg wanted to do was take a step back when he was this close to kissing Tara Simonetti.
Wasn’t that what she’d hoped all week too? For Greg to show up and share a smile or a coffee or a lifetime of happiness?
Greg moved closer, until she had to tip her gaze up to meet his eyes, and when she did, the most natural thing in the world was to wonder what it would be like . . .
He didn’t leave her wondering long. He wrapped his arms around her slowly, drawing her in, his gaze on hers.
He smiled.
And then he kissed her, cradling her in the strength of his arms while the aromas of fresh-cut lumber and spicy guy-soap filled her senses.
This couldn’t be wrong. Not when it felt so absolutely right. And yet, how could two people with polar opposite goals come to common ground?
He paused the kiss and pulled her in for a long, slow hug. “Tara.”
He breathed the name as if imprinting his soul, the husky word making her feel precious and beloved.
The desk phone rang. Tara moved to get it, but Greg held her hands. “The machine’s on; it’s after hours.”
The phone quit ringing. But then his cell phone buzzed. He scowled, checked the readout, and stepped away. “Gotta take this.”
She watched him stride away, all business, as awareness hit home. Work always came first with the Gregs of this world. It was better to understand that now and not let amazing kisses tempt her into settling for second place or standing witness to his power quest. A man who drew her heart with such fierceness wouldn’t just break her heart if things went bad. He’d shatter it.
She hesitated for a fraction of a second, then picked up her jacket, scribbled a note, and slipped out the front door while he took the call.
Her cell phone rang as she trudged toward Germantown Avenue. She grabbed it out, certain it was Greg.
It wasn’t.
She let the call go to voice mail and walked home—cold, wet, and disheartened. Greg was wired to put work first, always.
She wasn’t built that way, and better to find that out now. But oh, how she wished it were different.
Because she could have spent a lifetime enjoying long, slow kisses like the one they shared tonight.
“I’ll be there, Nettie, first thing in the morning.”
“Not first thing,” the director of the Old City Mission corrected Greg smoothly. “There are church services goin’ on first thing Sunday, and the neighborin’ churches have invited us to come by and worship with them, even though most of my regulars don’t have Sunday-go-to-meetin’ clothes at their disposal. We’ll meet after services, and I thank you, Gregory. I didn’t have a prayer of winnin’ this fight ’til you came on board. I speak for all of us when I say we are humbly grateful.”
“I’m glad to help.” He meant the words sincerely, even though grandstanding for charity broke new legal ground for him.
He finished up his phone call with the Old City Mission director and hurried back to Tara.
She was gone.
Greg spotted the note, read the short missive, then stared around the small construction area and back at the note again. Had to go. Sorry.
The front door opened. He moved that way, glad she had returned, but it was Kathy who bustled through the door. She waved a hand and hurried to the front desk. “My keys! I got all the way home and realized I left my house keys in the top drawer. What was I thinking?”
“I’d have run them over.”
She frowned at the pile of wood. “I called but no one answered, and I decided you’ve got enough on your plate tonight. Where’s your buddy?”
“Gone.”
“Oh?” Kathy glanced from the work area to Greg and back. “I thought she was going to help you.”
“Me too.” He sighed. “Guess not.”
Kathy looked at him for long, slow seconds, the kind of look that took great measure. She withdrew her keys and came around the desk, then paused in front of him. “She’s falling for you, Greg.”
He grimaced, because he thought that too, right before she disappeared. “Strange way of showing it.”
“Or maybe she’s uncertain where she fits into your busy life.”
Greg shrugged that off. “Everyone’s busy. In their own way.”
“But most of us take time for life in the middle of the busy.” The seriousness of Kathy’s expression deepened. “You’ve worked so long and hard that you don’t see the difference, probably because you’re surrounded by people doing the exact same thing. It feels right because you’re in the thick of it. But we normal folk like a day off now and again. And time with those we love.”
Remorse spiked his heart. “You’re talking about Mom.”
She didn’t deny the implication. “She loved you more than anything. And she was so proud of you, of your strength, your spirit, your accomplishments. But it’s a kick in the head when you have to make an appointment to see your own son.”
The regret pierced deeper, because Kathy wasn’t far off the mark. “Did she hate me? For being a self-absorbed jerk like my father?”
“Oh, please.” Kathy made a face of disbelief. “Your father was a two-timing belt-notcher. He cheated on three wives that I know of. Your ambition to do your best comes straight from your mother, Greg, because you actually care about the outcome. But if you want the fullness of life she had, it’s time to take a breath and think hard. Because while God hands out second chances on a regular basis, it’s not necessarily a guarantee.”
“You mean Tara.”
She gave him a quick, motherly hug. “I mean life,” she whispered. She backed toward the door. “Don’t be so busy climbing up that you forget to enjoy the scenery along the road you’re taking.”
She winked and waved, leaving him to his thoughts. He built the four short walls methodically, with plenty of time to think, and when he was done, he walked home, past the closed-down mission, past the church with the altruistic priest, past houses and shops that meant little to him because he never took the time to be a neighbor or friend to those around him.
The old stone church at the corner had a lighted sign out front. He’d passed this sign countless times, but tonight the words struck deep.
If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.
I gain nothing.
The simple verse struck him tonight. Was the constant quest for success destined to be his downfall? He’d sailed through life with clear goals until last August when he lost his mother.
He’d never even had a chance to say good-bye. And worse, he couldn’t remember if he had kissed her at their last dinner, nearly three weeks before her death. Did she know how much he loved and appreciated her? Did she die knowing the depth of his gratitude?
He stared at the sign, then walked the last block deep in thought. Nettie Johnson said her regular mission dwellers had been invited to share in the neighborhood worship services. As he unlocked the front door of his home, he wondered if they’d mind making room for a money-grubbing lawyer too.
Kathy had kept Monday morning free of bridal appointments to give Meghan and Tara time to build the old-world display in the most visible front corner while the drywall team finished the tuxedo-area changing rooms. Donna met with the caterer to lock in the appetizer trays for the kickoff party. Two former brides who loved Elena offered to play hostess for the evening, circulating with trays of food so the staff could talk with prospective partners unencumbered.
While most of the staff decided that semiformal dresses from home worked fine, Kathy rented her own medieval-style costume fo
r the gala.
“You look like one of Sleeping Beauty’s fairy godmothers.” Maisy rolled her eyes at the pink empire-waist gown and cone hat. “You can’t be serious.”
“I rarely am,” Kathy quipped. She fluttered her bell sleeves. “And who would have thought they’d have this in my size? Obviously fairies aren’t as tiny as most folks think.” She grinned as she paraded through the front of the store. “Folks’ll see me coming.”
“You can say that again,” Liz muttered, but then she grabbed Kathy’s shoulders. “Elena would think it’s a great idea because it lightens the moment, so thank you for that. But now get in the back and let me mark the skirt so I can tape a hem. Can’t have you tripping into some hotel bigwig we’re trying to impress.”
Greg came in to check the tuxedo corner’s progress just before closing. He whistled lightly and high-fived Kathy. “Ready for painting on Wednesday. Perfect.”
“And we’ve double-checked everything,” Kathy assured him. “We’re good to go.”
“I appreciate it.” His gaze flicked to Tara as she moved toward the front of the store.
She gave him a “friends only” smile as she logged out of the second computer. “This has been a whirlwind few weeks. I don’t think I’ve ever had this much fun, or been this tired before.”
“You’ve all gone the distance,” Greg noted. He motioned to the new displays and the half-empty mothers’ area, ready for an influx of prom gowns due to arrive soon. “I think we can do this.”
Tara heard the we and bit back her first reaction. Greg had been pretty much unavailable these past two weeks, and if that was his version of teamwork, she wanted none of it. She punched out, purposely didn’t meet his gaze, and left with Meghan.
“Think he’ll race out that door and chase you down, declaring his unbridled affection?”
Tara frowned and Meghan laughed. “Don’t pretend you’re not over the top. At least it’s mutual.”
“You’re fantasizing. Greg’s my boss.”
“Which means you get to keep the store when you marry him.” Meghan nudged her as they got closer to the bus stop. “Win/win, right?”
“It would be if I wanted to marry the store,” Tara replied. “But I’ve always kinda dreamed I’d come first in my husband’s life. Not work first, with me and one-point-seven kids cruising into a well-funded second. That’s not the happily-ever-after I’ve got scripted.”
Meghan’s bus rumbled closer. She tapped her cell phone. “Text me if you think of anything we’ve overlooked for Friday.”
“Will do.”
“And, Tara?”
“Yes?”
Meghan turned as the bus rolled to a stop. “I’d give the guy a chance.”
Tara started to sigh, and Meghan held up both hands, palms out. “It’s not my business, and we don’t know each other well, but I see a gentle heart in that total stud-muffin body, and that’s a not-so-common occurrence these days.”
Tara smiled. She couldn’t disagree. But the man she married needed a heart for God and for hearth and home, and right now Greg was batting zero. No matter how she did the math, it came up wrong, and that made the new job she loved a mixed blessing.
Thursday afternoon the phone rang. “Greg, Marc Mitchum here.”
Greg gripped the phone tightly. “Marc, hello. It looks like Manhattan escaped the monster storm that hammered us yesterday.”
“Missed us by an inch,” the CEO declared. “It caught Long Island, so that meant I stayed in the office overnight, but that’s a fairly common occurrence around here. Market conditions have me flying to Tokyo on Saturday, so I’m bringing you here tonight. In the morning we’ll go through the required interview process, and then I can make my decision before I spend a week eating food I don’t like. My assistant booked a flight for you, Bert’s cleared you from the Philly office, and we’re good to go.”
Good to go? They booked a flight for him to interview in New York on the day of the scheduled gala? This couldn’t be happening. “Sir, are you sure you want to rush this? I’m fine with waiting until you get back next week. In fact—”
Mitchum cut him off quickly. “It’s New York, Greg. We never wait. Your enthusiasm for your work speaks for you. The major-league clients trust you, and that’s the cornerstone of a financial partnership like ours. You’ll come here straight from JFK, and the driver will take your bags to the Millenium Hilton. I’ve got every minute planned. All you have to do is show up as scheduled. Hopefully we’ll send you back to Philly tomorrow night with a new job title.”
First-class treatment at the worst time ever.
Greg swallowed hard. Wasn’t this what he’d worked toward for years? His shot at New York? Why was he hesitating?
“I’ll see you later today.”
“Good!” Marc hung up without another word, typical for the New York boss. Greg scanned the flight info that Mitchum’s assistant had e-mailed, then sighed as the boarding pass printed.
A seven forty-five evening flight back to Philly on Friday.
He’d miss the gala.
Could the women handle it?
Yes.
But shouldn’t he be here for it?
New York’s been the goal for years. Don’t mess this up. You go, you get tagged as up-and-coming, then you come back here and celebrate after the gala. Sounds like a fast-paced wining and dining extravaganza to me.
It did, except that being questioned by men who picked your brain while trying to assess your soul suddenly didn’t sound all that appealing.
You’ve waited a long time for this, putting in years of preparation. And now you get cold feet?
Greg packed an overnight bag and called a local florist to have flowers brought to the store before the gala, a testament to his confidence in the staff’s abilities. He tried calling Tara.
No answer.
He stared at the phone. Should he text her?
No, too impersonal, and what he really wanted was to hear her voice before he boarded his plane. He wanted her to offer an opinion. Beg him to stay.
He sighed, called Kathy to let her know what happened, then caught a cab to the airport. The misgivings he felt as he boarded the plane took him by surprise, but as he settled into his company-provided first-class seat, he saw a pregnant woman with a young child in her arms. She was waiting her turn to navigate the narrow aisle clogged with passengers stowing personal items in the overhead compartments.
Greg stood, reached out, and caught her attention. “Take my seat. Please.”
Her expression said the offer was tempting, but she shrank back. “I couldn’t, no. But thank you.”
He moved into the aisle, reached up and grabbed his carry-on, and smiled. “I insist.”
Someone behind Greg cleared his throat.
Greg motioned to the seat and then the little one in her arms. “He’ll like this better. Not as noisy.”
She slipped into the seat, sat back, and smiled. “Thank you.”
“No problem. Where’s your seat?”
She grimaced. “Sixty-four B, I’m afraid.”
He made his way to the back as the aisle cleared, remembering the soft words he’d heard in church last Sunday. Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.
The reverend had probably chosen the quote to honor their unexpected mission guests, but the verse spoke directly to Greg. He was paying it forward, and for the first time in years, he not only loved what he was doing, he respected it.
Tara scrolled down her checklist Thursday evening. “Food and beverages are set. Decorations, done. The servers are arriving at six to help arrange the grazing tables. Name tags are made, the theme-specific business cards have arrived, Kathy’s got her fairy godmother gown all set . . .”
“Medieval queen,” Kathy corrected. “It just looks like a cartoon fairy godmother’s getup.”
A round of laughter greeted her remark.
“And with all of us and Greg, we should have
about fifty people here tomorrow night.”
“Except that Greg’s in New York,” Kathy announced.
Tara’s heart thumped to a stop. “Now? With the grand opening tomorrow night?”
“When New York says jump . . .” Donna shrugged. Clearly Greg had little say in the matter.
“They had him board a plane about three hours ago,” Kathy went on. “Part of the job when you’re at Tatelbaum, Schicker, and Knapf.”
It took every ounce of reserve to keep her face placid, but Tara gritted her teeth and did it. He’d called her, late afternoon, and instead of answering the phone, she let it go to voice mail. What would he have said if she’d answered? She might never know.
“I’m glad he got the tuxedo area done before his trip,” Donna added. “He’s footing a sizable bill for tomorrow night’s party, and it’s nice that he didn’t have to hire out too much of the remodeling.”
“I was surprised at how well he did,” Tara admitted. “I didn’t peg Greg as the handyman type.”
Kathy sent her a curious look. “He wasn’t born in a high-rise office.”
“He worked summer construction during undergrad to offset room and board,” Jean explained. “The store was doing well, but not well enough to handle an Ivy League education out of pocket.”
Tara considered Jean’s comment as she gathered the dresses needed for the gala. Former brides would showcase the newest looks, letting the quality of the designer gowns speak for itself.
They closed the store, and as Tara walked to the bus stop, her phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID. Michelle Simonetti. “Hey, Mom. What’s up?”
“Just checking in,” her mother answered. “I wanted you to know that life has settled back into its typical low-drama existence.”
They used to laugh together about the lack of news in Kenneville, but the calm, cozy town held its own brand of charm.
“Mostly I wanted to make sure you’re okay,” her mother added.
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