by Lane, Nina
The details are all fused together—like the parts of a brilliant, stained-glass window.
Ivy climbing up the stone walls of the villa. The Delacroix family sitting nearby. Endless sloping hills covered with grapevines. The family dog lounging in a patch of sunlight.
Liv walking toward me in a simple white dress, a few flowers threaded through her long hair. Breaking my heart with her beauty.
The soft clasp of her hands around mine.
Her smile, like a secret meant only for me.
Her voice, gentle and certain.
The intense, overwhelming love that almost brought me to my knees.
“I’m at your feet forever, Olivia Rose,” I whispered the instant before our lips met. “I’ll move heaven and earth to give you whatever you want, whatever you need.”
“Oh, Dean.” She pressed her hand to the side of my face. “All I need is you.”
And then the kiss, a perfect harmony of the stars and planets that started my universe all over again.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Olivia
March 28
finally understand why Dorothy, Maria, Eliza, Gigi, and Sandy break out into song in the midst of going about their lives. Sometimes your heart gets so filled with emotions that words alone can’t express them all. So you need singing and dancing, a philharmonic orchestra, and a full chorus backing you up. Because there is that much inside you.
Since I don’t have an orchestra or chorus, and my dancing skills are decidedly lacking, I compensate by humming a little tune as I arrange croissants and brioche in baskets. It’s just past dawn, and the air is filled with the rich, fragrant scents of coffee and fresh baked goods.
My husband is home… my husband is home… my beautiful, intensely hot husband is home…
And he has a sexy weekend planned that has me all fluttery with excitement. I couldn’t be more in love with that man if I tried. I also couldn’t be more stirred up at the thought of all the erotic things we’re going to do, but I manage to contain my arousal beneath my anticipation.
The wait, I know, will be so worth it.
Still humming, I go through the swinging doors to the kitchen and get another tray of brioche. The owner of La Première Moisson is a gruff, older fellow from Lyons who thinks “zee Ahmericans ruin zee good cuisine with zee fast food.”
The man does know how to make a spectacular croissant, though, so I forgive him his pretensions. Plus, he might be right about us.
“Hey, Gustave, do you know how to sing?” I ask him as I slide the tray of golden-brown bread onto the counter.
“Zing?” His brow furrows. You would think I’d just asked him if he knows how to yodel.
“Yeah. Like Edith Piaf.” I clear my throat and warble, “Je ne regrette rien…”
Gustave looks as if I just spit in his vat of butter. I stop singing.
“Only curious.” I dump the brioche into another basket.
“I do not zing.” Gustave returns his attention to shaping baguettes. “Neither, apparently, do you, Oleevia.”
I grin and head to the front counter with the basket. After getting the displays filled, I unlock the doors at seven and help the customers who come in for coffee and breakfast. It’s busy for the next couple of hours, with hardly a lull until around nine.
When the crowd finally dwindles down a bit, I restock all the baskets with fresh pastries, clean the counters and floors, and get ready for the second morning rush.
I’m dipping almond cookies in chocolate when a familiar, deep voice rumbles over my skin.
“Medium coffee, please.”
I turn, my heart leaping at the sight of Dean standing on the other side of the counter. His dark eyes crinkle with warmth as he looks at me, a smile tugging at his mouth. He looks gorgeous, all rumpled masculinity in a sweatshirt and jeans, his hair disheveled by the breeze. If I stepped close to him, I’d smell shaving cream and fresh spring air.
A thousand memories wash over me of those early days when he’d walk in the door of Jitter Beans and our eyes would meet with sparks of electricity. How wonderful to feel that happy excitement again.
“Coming right up.” I turn to the coffee dispenser. “Room for cream in your coffee, sir?”
“No, thanks.”
I pour the coffee and slide the cup across the counter. “Can I interest you in a fresh croissant or brioche?”
“Sure. You pick for me.”
I select a buttery, chocolate croissant for him and slip it into a bag, then ring up the purchase.
“See how I’m moving up in the world?” I ask. “From Jitter Beans to La Première Moisson. Ooo la la.”
“Indeed.” He returns my smile, digging into his pocket for his wallet. “You always did have that je ne sais quoi.”
He glances behind him to ensure there’s no one else in the shop, then leans across the counter to press his lips against mine. A hint of eucalyptus and fresh air fill my nose.
I fall into him, melting like sun-warmed honey. He cups my chin and angles my face to his in exactly the right way. I slide my hand around the back of his neck, rising up onto my tiptoes to increase the pressure of the kiss.
“You smell amazing.” He trails his mouth across my cheek to nuzzle his nose against my hair, his lips seeking my ear. His voice is a husky whisper. “Just want to back you up against the wall, lift your skirt, and spread your pretty legs.”
A shiver rocks me to my toes. “God, Dean.”
“Every time you say that…” he pulls away with a soft mutter, “…my self-control slips a little more.”
“God, Dean.”
He laughs. I smile and reach out to tweak his nose.
A Gallic-sounding grunt breaks through my pleasure. Gustave approaches, bearing a tray of éclairs. He puts the tray on top of the cold case and glowers at me, jerking his thumb toward the éclairs.
“Consider it done, monsieur.” I hurry to arrange the éclairs in lacy paper cups.
Gustave goes back to the kitchen. As he passes me, I swear I hear him humming “That’s Amore” under his breath.
“Okay, I’m going.” Dean steals one last, quick kiss before stepping back.
“Can you still come to the café this afternoon?”
“I’ll be there around one. Just going to stop at the apartment to pick up some things. And we’re on for tonight?”
“Of course.” I think about my sexy lingerie and wonder which set I should wear for him. Just the thought of his hot gaze raking over my half-naked, lace-clad body has me pressing my thighs together to ease the ache.
“I’ll pick you up at six,” Dean says.
“Where are we going?”
“McDonald’s.”
“Big spender.”
“Only for you, baby.” He winks at me and turns to go.
For a good half hour after he leaves, I can’t stop smiling. The orchestra is already striking up a song.
“Well.” Kelsey puts her hands on her hips and studies the main dining room of Matilda’s Teapot. “With some redecorating, you’ll be in great shape.”
“We’re starting the remodeling next week.” I look at the spreadsheets and plans scattered over one of the tables. “It’s a huge undertaking.”
“Yeah. But Allie’s right. You couldn’t have a better location, and it sounds like she and Brent know what they’re doing.” Kelsey turns to pierce me with one of her perceptive looks. “The question is… how do you feel about all this?”
“Mostly excited,” I tell her. “I’ve never done anything like it before, but I know it’s a great idea. I love being in business with Allie, and I’m happy that I can finally contribute something of my own.”
She’s still watching me. “So what’s the problem?”
“It’s nerve-wracking. What if I just poured my entire inherit
ance into a new business and it fails? And what if I didn’t calculate the costs of working capital correctly and we run out of money?”
Kelsey pushes a chair away from the table and straddles it, resting her arms across the back. “You could find another partner.”
“Not one both Allie and I could trust as much as we trust each other. Dean offered to help financially, but he knows I’m trying to do this on my own and he would never ask to be a partner.”
“What about me?” Kelsey asks.
“What about you?”
“What if I offered to be a partner?”
I lift my head. “What?”
“I’d be a partner in your business.”
“Are you serious?”
“Am I ever not serious?”
“I can’t let you do that.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a bad idea. Mixing business with friendship.”
“You’ve never done it before. How do you know it’s a bad idea?”
“Everyone says so.”
“I don’t listen to everyone.”
I can only stare at her. Tears sting my eyes.
“Jesus, Liv,” Kelsey mutters. “Don’t cry. I’m offering you a partnership, not a kidney.”
“Sorry.” I grab a napkin and swipe my nose.
“Besides, you’re doing this with Allie, and she’s a friend, right?” Kelsey asks.
“I know, but you… you’re more like…”
“Like what?”
“Well, like family.” My heart clenches a little.
We both fall silent. Then Kelsey heaves a sigh.
“Okay, look. I’ll say this only once.” She digs her fingernail into a crack on the back of the chair. “I’ve never had a lot of close friends. I don’t like it when people start wanting to know shit about me. It’s annoying. But Dean’s never been like that. Never made me feel like I have to apologize for anything. And when he married you, I thought he’d change, that things would be different. I was all revved up to dislike you.”
“You were?” I can’t even imagine withstanding the force of Kelsey March’s dislike.
“Yeah,” she says. “But you made it impossible. The first time I met you was in LA at the farmer’s market. After Dean introduced us, you gave me this… this Liv hug and asked me to join you for crepes.”
She shakes her head, as if I’d asked her to fly over the rainbow.
“Um… I like crepes,” I say.
“Liv, I mean you just accepted everything, you know? Me. You never questioned my friendship with Dean. Never felt threatened by it. Not many people have figured out how to deal with me as fast as you did. Like you didn’t miss a beat. And you made your husband better, which is saying something.”
She shoves off the chair. “Okay, I’m done. That little speech will self-destruct in five seconds.”
I know enough not to respond to any of that, but my heart fills with love and affection for Kelsey and her bad-ass self.
“So, we’re finishing up the final numbers,” I say, turning to the spreadsheet. “Can I get back to you next week?”
“Yeah. You and Allie figure out if you need me, and I’ll see what I can do. Just don’t get all mushy about it.”
The sound of footsteps comes down the stairs, signaling Allie’s approach.
“Liv, I really think that front room should be the witch’s castle room,” she remarks, “because it has that view of the mountains, and the witch’s castle was surrounded by mountains. Hold on, let me grab my portfolio from the car and we can sketch out some ideas.”
She hurries out the back door. I gather up all the spreadsheets, and Kelsey shrugs into her jacket just as the bell over the door rings. We turn to see a tall man in his mid-forties enter, shedding his coat and pulling a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. He’s dressed with casual elegance in khakis and a button-down shirt.
“Can I help—” I start to say.
The back door bangs open, and Allie bustles in again. “Oh, hey, Dad.”
Dad?
Kelsey and I watch in astonishment as Allie and the man exchange a bear hug.
“Thanks for coming,” Allie says. “Did you meet Liv?”
“Not yet.” The man extends his hand to me and smiles. “Max Lyons. Allie’s father.”
I shake his hand in disbelief, stunned by the fact that not only is he quite young to have a twenty-seven-year-old daughter, he doesn’t look anything like I’d imagined.
From what Allie has told me, her father moved to one of the artsy neighborhoods on the other side of the lake, after Allie’s mother died years ago. Allie hadn’t wanted to ask him for more money to help with the bookstore or the café, and I’d assumed that was because he’d helped her out a lot already and didn’t have much money himself. In fact, I’d pictured Max Lyons as a long-haired hippie who wears frayed jeans and smells faintly of pot.
I did not picture a man who looks as if he’s just stepped from the pages of GQ.
“And this is Kelsey March,” Allie tells her father. “She’s a professor at the university.”
“In which department?” Max Lyons asks, holding out his hand to Kelsey.
I can’t believe it. My majestic friend is standing there as if she’s just lost the ability to speak.
“Atmospheric sciences,” I pipe up, giving Kelsey a quick poke in the side.
“Uh, yeah.” She shakes Max’s hand, then takes a step toward the door. “Weather forecasting. Nice meeting you.”
“You too.”
“I asked Dad if he could stop by and give us his opinion about the building,” Allie tells me. “He’s an architect.”
“Oh.” Now things finally fall into place. “Well, that’s great.”
“Come on.” Allie tugs on Max’s sleeve. “I’ll tell you what we’re planning for the upstairs rooms. Liv, could you call Marianne and ask if she can stop by?”
“Sure.”
Kelsey and I walk to the front porch as I take out my cell and leave Marianne a quick voicemail.
Dean’s car pulls up to the curb. My heart gives a welcome, familiar leap as he approaches, his black peacoat buttoned against the cold. In contrast to his rumpled appearance this morning, he’s now wearing a tailored suit with a navy tie knotted at his throat. His thick, dark hair is brushed away from his forehead, emphasizing the masculine planes of his face.
Although I always love the sight of my handsome husband in full, distinguished-professor mode, now my pleasure is shadowed by a twinge of despair.
Dean brushes his lips across my cheek and turns to hug Kelsey.
“How long are you staying?” she asks, pulling her car keys from her pocket.
“Ten days.”
“Racquetball tomorrow, then?”
My stomach twists. Dean and Kelsey often work out together at the university gym, but with him not allowed to be on campus now…
“No, I’ve got stuff to do,” he tells her.
Kelsey glances at me, as if she senses something is up. Then she shrugs and goes down the steps to her car. I move closer to Dean, disliking the ever-present knowledge of what he has to contend with.
“When is the meeting?” I ask.
“Wednesday. I’m going into Forest Grove this afternoon to consult with a library board about their medieval manuscript collection.”
“What’s the Wednesday meeting about?”
“It’s a mediation meeting, see if we can come to some resolution so the case won’t go to the university board of trustees.” Dean gives me a reassuring smile that doesn’t ease the concern in his eyes. “Shouldn’t be too bad.”
He runs his hand over my hair and nods toward the café. “So tell me what you’ve got planned here.”
Pulling open the door, he steps aside to let me precede him. He takes his co
at off, tossing it over a chair before unbuttoning his suit jacket.
I stop and do a double-take. Beneath his jacket, he’s wearing…
“Is that a sweater vest?” I ask in astonishment.
As if he’s forgotten, Dean looks down at the navy, buttoned vest he’s wearing over a gray shirt. “Yeah.”
“Since when do you wear sweater vests?”
“Since the girl at the store told me it looked good.”
I stare at him, struck by how a piece of clothing so dorky can make a man like Professor West look like… well, like this. With his hair burnished by the lights, the knot of his tie tucked against his collar, the sweater vest molding beautifully to his sculpted torso…
“That girl was right,” I admit.
“So you like it?” he asks.
I lean closer and whisper, “Makes me want to rub my naked body all over you.”
His eyes flare, and he strokes his thumb across my lips. “Hold that thought.”
“Keep that vest. It’s incredibly sexy on you.”
“You’re incredibly sexy on me too.”
I smile and stand on tiptoe to kiss him. Before I can ease away from him, he plants his hand on the small of my back and tugs me closer. His eyes fill with that combination of heat and tenderness that I know so well and have missed so much.
He brushes his thumb across my lower lip, sending a burst of sparks over my skin. My breath catches in my throat as he crowds me up against the wall and lowers his mouth to mine in a hot, heavy kiss that scorches my veins with desire.
I can’t help a small moan, my body going weak against the wall as Dean presses closer, his tongue seeking mine. I wind my hands around his neck, tucking my fingers into his hair as his kiss deepens and fills me with a thousand tiny fires. My sex throbs, my pulse kicking into gear. I fight the urge to slide my hands beneath his vest and unbutton his shirt, running my palms over the hard slopes of his chest—
“Ahem.”
