by Cindy Kirk
Kathy rolled her eyes. “Your mother was proud of you. She encouraged your dreams. And from where I’m standing, the way you’ve helped spur things along here says she raised a pretty nice guy.”
“She’d be thrilled that you’re getting the chance you’ve always wanted.” Donna slung her arm around Greg. “Mothers want their children to be happy.” She moved to put the final gowns away.
Greg turned toward Tara, and she met his gaze straight on. “Some of us are meant to be movers and shakers,” she said. “That’s a good fit for you, Greg. You’re strong and tough. New York won’t know what hit them.”
Still, she couldn’t help wishing things were different. Wishing she could find a way to mentally separate Greg’s job from her own values, and from the memory of a simple man who trusted the wrong lawyer.
Tara was right. Greg wanted to be at the top of his game, and he was on the verge of realizing his dream. Why did the thought of success feel suddenly tainted? He’d done nothing wrong.
Not wrong, per se. But not all that right either.
He slung his jacket across the back of a chair and rolled out a bag of power tools from the back room. Framing the tuxedo fitting rooms was the kind of muscle work that took his mind off corporate law and New York City. Not to mention an unforgettable woman who had walked in the door a few weeks ago and made him start seeing life and love through very different eyes.
“Are you doing this alone?”
Tara stood between him and the front door. She was ready to go, her coat on, a cute hat pulled down over the mass of golden brown curls.
“The rooms are small, and I’m just roughing in tonight. I thought I’d be in earlier, but—”
“Duty called.”
A new kind of duty, but yes, one that felt good by the end of the day. He hoped the city judge would see things his way and smack down the mission landlord’s illegal notice of eviction.
She took a step forward. “That didn’t answer my question. There’s no one to help you hold things in place?”
He shrugged but couldn’t deny how her words ignited a spark of hope. “Nope.” He gave her a hang-dog expression. “Just me and a really big stack of two-by-fours.”
“I’d stay, but I’m not exactly the build-a-room type,” Kathy said as she prepared to leave. “Everyone else has gone home. I’ll lock up, Greg, but I won’t set the alarm.”
Tara started to slip off her coat. Kathy ducked her head, but not before Greg saw her smile of approval as she went out the front. “You don’t have to do this.” He gave the pile of wood a quick glance. “I can erect the walls on the floor, then stand them up. It’s not as hard as it might seem, and they’re small rooms.”
“I’ve helped my mother with a lot of DIY projects,” Tara replied. She grabbed an old sweater from the office and pulled it on to protect the nice clothes she’d worn that day. “And it’s not in my nature to walk away when a friend needs a hand.”
He stopped laying wood at designated spots on the floor and looked up at her. “What if I want to be more than a friend, Tara? Would you walk away then?”
She had been moving toward him, but then she paused, looking down. “I—”
“Because—” He stood and halved the distance between them. “I managed to stay away all week, when what I wanted to do was drop in here, pretend to help, and see you. Just you. So why don’t you look me in the eye and tell me you feel the same way, and then . . .” He smiled and stroked the curve of her cheek with one finger. “Then . . .”
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 for 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 w
e’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.
