by Ines Saint
She let out a surprised laugh. “Wow. You’re really good. You circled back to me.”
“I’m waiting.”
“Fine. But know that I’m allowing you to change the subject—you did not charm me into it.”
“Of course not,” he agreed, bumping his shoulders with hers.
“Number one,” she began, as if she was about to read off a checklist she’d memorized. “Potential Don Quixote and I only started dating very recently, but I’ve known him for a very long time. There are no surprises. Number two: We’re both hardworking, passionate about our careers, and open to new experiences. Number three: Our upbringing was very similar, we want the same for our future kids, and we both want to travel extensively. Number four: He has his feet firmly on the ground, while I tend to hope too much and want to take on the world. That keeps us from being boring because we balance and challenge each other. My parents are the same way, and they’ve been very happily married for thirty-three years. It’s what I’ve always looked for and what I’ve always wanted. It just works.”
“Huh. Interesting . . . In what ways is he a realist where you’re too hopeful?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“We’ve got nothing else to do.”
He felt her shrug before speaking again. “Um, let’s see . . . Oh. Here’s one. The other day I had this idea of having underprivileged kids develop and star in their own musical, and to me, the idea felt like it could be life changing for the kids and everyone involved, and I was so excited, I started bringing people on board and planning. But he gently reminded me that kids of a certain age are headstrong and temperamental, and that they might not get as excited and as on board as I’d want them to be. I still want to do the musical and I’ll still give it my all, but now I know I need to harbor realistic expectations. He doesn’t want me to get my hopes crushed.”
Johnny wondered if the guy hadn’t crushed them already himself, but he knew it was an unfair thought about someone he didn’t even know. Maybe the guy was right. Instead, he said, “So, why aren’t you two in a committed relationship yet?”
“It’s recent and, like I said, he’s a realist. He’ll need to weigh it all and be sure. That’s a good thing for both of us.”
Johnny let out an exaggerated sigh.
“What?” she asked.
“Did I say something?”
“No, but you want to. Go ahead. It won’t have any effect on the way I think and feel.”
“Okay then, but only because you’re dying to know what I think—”
She laughed. “I’m not dying—”
“You know Don Quixote doesn’t see Dulcinea for who she truly is. That’s the story. And Don Quixote was the dreamer, not Dulcinea.”
She was quiet for a few beats. “I’m confused. What are you trying to say? This is just a costume, you know. I know you don’t know me, but I’m not the type to go around making a fool of others. I’m pretty much an open book.”
Johnny started, realizing he’d inadvertently insulted her. In the story, Dulcinea was coarse and ugly. He hadn’t meant to imply she was, too, or that she was making a fool of her guy. “I’m sorry. That came out the wrong way. I meant that I hope you haven’t gotten the roles reversed, and that you’re seeing him for who he truly is,” he explained, before noting how presumptuous that sounded. Not used to sticking his foot in his mouth with women, he let out a frustrated sigh. “Forget it. Ignore me. You’re right. I don’t know either of you. It’s just that in the short time we’ve been trapped here, I’ve seen that you’re beautiful, and thoughtful, and giving, and I hope you end up with someone who deserves you. That’s all.”
“Oh,” she said. He felt her stiff posture soften. “Are you trying to get into my good graces again because you don’t know how long we’ll be stuck together? ’Cause you’re pretty convincing. I believe you didn’t mean to insult me. There. You’re forgiven.”
He laughed. “I definitely want to get back into your good graces, but I meant what I said.”
“That I’m beautiful, and thoughtful, and giving?” She leaned back. “You don’t know me, remember? You just view people with a generous lens, too. And you prove my point about balance. People like us are easier to fool.”
It was Johnny’s turn to feel insulted. He was not easily fooled. And he didn’t care whether he had to be presumptuous to prove it. “Let’s see . . . you were having fun and you wanted to stay till midnight, but you left because you were worried about someone else. You tried to protect me as much as I tried to protect you when the elevator was falling. You felt bad the moment you thought you’d hurt my feelings and you made up for it by saying all sorts of nice things about charmers. You didn’t invite your new guy friend here tonight because he’s not the type to wear costumes. You pretended to be okay with waiting in a dark elevator with a weird, but charming stranger because you knew the police had better things to do than to rescue you from the darkness and me. You want to make a difference in the lives of underprivileged kids, and you still sound sad about a girl you knew who was hurt long ago. You are beautiful, and thoughtful, and giving, and I’m no fool.”
He paused. She was silent. Too silent. So he continued. “And I’m not hitting on you. I also think you can be a little naïve. You think you and your errant knight would be perfect together because you’re both passionate about your careers, open to new experiences, and want to travel extensively. Those same things could’ve been said about Bernie Madoff and Mother Teresa, and those two would’ve been totally wrong for each other.”
A heavy silence fell over them and he realized he was jealous. Jealous! Of all the ridiculous reactions to a girl he’d just met . . .
“Bernie Madoff and Mother Teresa?” she repeated, and started giggling. The sound filled him with relief. “I think maybe I should be mad again, but I can’t be. You said too many nice things. Maybe you should go back and expand on the naïve bit. If you hadn’t shoved me away so hard when I fell into your arms, I’d definitely think you were hitting on me.”
“So we’re back to that shove.” He tsked. “You’re never going to let me forget it, are you? You’ll tell our children and grandchildren . . .” he teased.
She laughed harder, and hiccupped twice. “You may not be hitting on me, but you’re definitely flirting. It’s probably part of that dangerous charm. You can’t even help yourself, can you?”
“I’m only flirting because we’ve established that you’re a kind person, you’re unattached, and you’re a total knockout. I’d be a fool not to flirt, and we’ve also established I’m no fool.” It hit Johnny that for the first time in a long time he was flirting in earnest and not as an unintended by-product of trying to be nice. He liked this girl. She was sparking something new, and whatever it was filled a few of those puzzling, empty spaces inside him.
“That’s not true. We’ve only established that you’re too charming for your own good, that it gets you into trouble, and that I’m possibly a nice, uptight, and naïve person.”
Johnny draped an arm over his knee. It seemed she was enjoying herself as much as he was again. “If it doesn’t make you uncomfortable, I can prove you’re beautiful and I’m not a fool.”
“You’ve made me mad, but so far, not uncomfortable. You’re not the only one who can read other people! Your first thought was to protect me when the elevator fell, you’ve been careful not to touch me so that I don’t feel threatened on top of being trapped, and you said you were sorry in the nicest way. You also talk more than most men do. It’s a welcome change. All in all, you seem like a decent guy. A harmless flirt. So go for it. Prove you’re not a fool,” she said, sounding relaxed and cheerful.
“I do talk more than most men do. It’s ’cause women love to chat, and I love women. I’ll probably end up proving that, too.” He breathed out on a soft laugh and turned his head to face her. His eyes had grown accustomed to the dark, but he still couldn’t see a thing. “Research shows it only takes most people one-tenth of a second to form a
first impression about strangers, and men are more visual than women. Magnetic resonance imaging shows that a man’s hypothalamus and amygdala are more active than a woman’s when rating attractiveness. So keep in mind it’s not my fault I saw so much in a few seconds. I don’t know how much longer you’ll be my roomie, so I’ll only continue if you promise you’ll blame evolution and not me for the thoroughness of my first impression.”
“I promise.” She was laughing so hard she nearly choked the words out. God, he could really fall for this girl . . . “Your costume is cinched at the waist, revealing an ideal waist-to-hip ratio. From a purely evolutionary standpoint, my amygdala picked up on the fact that you’re healthy and fertile.” Their shoulders were touching and he knew she was looking at him. To his dismay, his breathing became uneven and his heart began beating at an unsteady rhythm. “And you have a great mouth. A mouth that smiles often. Your eyes are especially glittery. That I noticed right away.”
She stopped laughing and moved away a fraction of an inch.
Johnny swallowed hard. He’d gone too far. “I’m sorry.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t start out trying to flirt, but I’m definitely flirting with you now. On purpose.” He breathed out. “I like you.”
She inched back toward him and their shoulders touched again. A silly thing, yet his heart was in overdrive. He was still facing her, and when she turned her head to face him, he felt her breathing quicken. “I—I like you, too.” She gulped.
Their noses touched. His head began spinning. His chest started to ache.
“We shouldn’t . . .” she murmured, but she didn’t move, and her hot, fast breaths teased his mouth.
“Then we won’t,” he murmured back, feeling as if he’d collapse if she moved away.
“M—maybe . . .” she began, and his heart nearly jumped out of his chest. “Maybe if this elevator is like our little Vegas. When the doors open, one of us leaves and doesn’t look back . . . and we promise that what happens here, stays here,” she ended on a shaky note. He heard her gulp again when she placed her hands on his shoulders.
“Vegas, promise,” Johnny said, and smiled as he slowly bent his head. Their lips touched, and sparks shot out to every nerve in his body. It was new in its simplicity and intensity. It was heaven.
He brushed his lips across hers several times, feeling as though he’d go mad if he didn’t devour her mouth. She took his bottom lip between hers in a soft, warm kiss. White-hot fireworks went off in his chest, sending light and heat throughout his body. He nipped at her bottom lip before taking a little bite and she sucked in a breath, taking his head in her hands. The feel of her fingers in his hair was too much. He swept his tongue into her mouth, and slowly and deliberately stroked. An intimate give-and-take. How he needed that in his life.
He savored her feel, her taste, and the scent of her breath. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer and closer, until she was sitting on his lap. The kisses lengthened and deepened, until he thought he’d drown. Their lips parted, their breaths came out harsh and uneven, but they didn’t let go of each other. He drew up his knee and cradled her to him, and she buried her face in his neck.
And all of a sudden, the doors swished open. He squinted against the harsh intrusion of light and noise. She pushed off his lap and slid away. Johnny blinked and looked up. A group of people stared down at them. He shook his head to get his bearings. Dulcinea muttered, “Ay ay ay.”
And Johnny stiffened. The muttering was familiar in the same, far-off way her scent and her voice were, but he couldn’t place any of it.
She scrambled to her feet and Johnny pushed to his. “Er, my date and I have been trapped for the last thirty or so minutes. We were waiting for either the police or the fire department to rescue us and condemn this death trap.” At the words death trap, the entire group took a step back. “You’ll have to use the stairs. We’ll wait here and make sure no one uses the elevator until someone official gets here.”
“Thanks, man,” one of the guys said before heading toward the stairs. Johnny turned to his “date,” wanting more than anything to have to wait all night with her, talking to her, laughing with her, pulling her close and kissing her . . . but when he looked beside him, she was gone.
Stunned, he spun around a few times and looked left and right, but there was no sign of her.
He peered into the elevator and blinked, wondering if he’d dreamt the whole thing, when a folded piece of cardboard paper caught his eye. He picked it up and opened it. It was the invitation to the masquerade party, and the name on it gave him a momentary panic attack. He read it again. MELINDA MEDINA leapt up at him.
Marty’s youngest sister. Worse than that, Rosa’s granddaughter. Marty had been his best friend since kindergarten, and Rosa was the most daunting of the three meddling owners of the Gypsy Fortune Café and Bakery.
It would explain why so much about her felt familiar in that faded way. She’d also mentioned her parents had been married a long time, like Marty’s, and she’d talked about a musical, and Melinda was an actress.
But good sense soon kicked in. Marty’s youngest sister was supposed to be in California, Melinda was a common enough name, and Medina wasn’t exactly uncommon, either. It could be someone else. It would be easy to find out . . .
Our little Vegas. Johnny drew a hand through his hair and blew out a breath. He’d promised. And she’d kept up her side of the bargain. She’d left and hadn’t looked back. If she’d wanted to explore what had happened, she wouldn’t have run away. He looked into the elevator and relived every moment. The entire episode had felt intimate. The connection had been intense. Could it really have been Marty’s little sister? He had to know.
But he’d have to find out without breaking his promise. What happened in the elevator would remain between them.
Men didn’t like to talk to other men about their sisters, so asking Marty was out. Grandmothers, on the other hand, loved to talk about their grandchildren . . .
Chapter 2
Ruby Meriwether, inarguably the most meddling of the three owners of the Gypsy Fortune Café and Bakery, shook her wide sleeve back and glanced at her watch. “You’re never here at two. Is something the matter?” She pierced Johnny with narrowed, bright blue eyes.
Johnny sat down at the counter. Ruby was a descendant of the gypsies who’d founded their little town, and she was convinced she’d inherited their mystical powers of intuition. With her long, silver hair and collection of loose, colorful dresses, she certainly made sure she looked the part. “No, I just got back from Columbus and thought I’d grab some—”
“Pie,” Ruby finished for him with a knowing nod.
Johnny only wanted coffee, but if he was going to glean information from the three elderly ladies, he had to begin by letting them think they were right. The three women had two main things in common: They loved to interfere and they loved being right. “Exactly. A slice of pie and a double shot of espresso.”
Sherry Stokes, the third and only levelheaded owner, backed out of the kitchen with a tray of sweets. She set it down on the counter and blinked over at him. “What’s up? You’re never here at two.”
Johnny stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “I was in Columbus on a date, not for class, so I’m back early.”
“Must’ve been some date for you to make the trip to Columbus.” Ruby winked.
Johnny hesitated. Had Brianna, aka Snow White, thought the same thing? Was that part of the wrong message he’d sent, that he’d been willing to make the trip? The drive had never been a big deal to him. It was relaxing, in a way, to be alone with music and his thoughts, his eyes trained on the road ahead. “No. I’m used to the drive and don’t mind it,” he explained.
“Still. The commute must be getting old by now. How long has it been, three years?” Sherry’s pale green eyes were sympathetic. Her short blond do, rounded cheeks, and pout made her look almost beatific, which Johnny knew to be highly misleading. Lev
elheaded she was; saint she was not.
He nodded. “I’ve only got one more year of classes to go, though, and then I start my internship, hopefully at a local school.”
Rosa Medina, the third owner and the woman he’d come to speak to, appeared seemingly from nowhere and sat down next to him. “That reminds me, have you told your mother of your plans to work at a school yet?” she asked in a pleasing accent that softened the rebuke in her eyes.
Johnny looked down and stifled a sigh. This was a sore subject. “I told her once and she had a conniption. I don’t feel the need to remind her.” His mom couldn’t understand why he’d chosen to pursue a doctorate in school psychology and had accused him of being a big kid who was simply looking for ways to never to grow up. That his motives were pure and deep-seated was not something his mother could understand, so he’d refrained from explaining himself. That had been her first fit. When she’d looked it up and seen he could still open a private practice or join a group, she’d calmed down some. Telling her he planned on working for a public school system that served mostly underprivileged kids had nearly cost him his hearing. The hysterics that could come out of his mom were legendary among her two sons and her stepson, Dan—Johnny’s oldest brother.
Sherry placed a mug of steaming dark liquid in front of him. The invigorating smell of dark roast began to revive him. Man, he was tired. Outside, a bright and breezy late spring day beckoned him to go sleep under a tree. He’d waited in front of that elevator for two hours, making sure no one got in, until the police arrived. It had given him time to try to remember the things Marty and Rosa had told him about Melinda during the last few years, to see if it fit with what he’d learned about the girl in the elevator. It hadn’t been easy. He and Marty had each been so busy. And the girl was right. Most men he knew didn’t chat. Marty could get excited about sports, business, and politics, but he didn’t just sit down for a chat about his sisters. He only made passing comments.
But some of Marty and Rosa’s comments were about how Melinda was giving acting a shot in Los Angeles. It fit in with what she’d said about wanting to do a musical. And the girl in the elevator had brown eyes and tanned skin, like all three Medina siblings, so that fit, too.
