Miracles for Nick

by Holly Fuhrmann

Grace sighed. “You're right, it sounds insane."

  "What's your story?” Nick shot at his sister.

  "Did you ever wonder how I ended up in Erie? I mean Ripples was based in Chicago."

  Ripples was Joy's non-profit foundation that helped support about a half a dozen different charities.

  "The fairies introduced me to Sophie and I fell hard for a lonely little girl. But it didn't take long for me to fall just as hard for her father."

  "Did they win you a whole new wardrobe, too?” he asked sarcastically.

  "Oh, even worse, they talked me into a marriage-of-convenience with a man I thought loved someone else and who said he thought I was comfortable."

  "Gabriel's nuts about you,” Nick defended his brother-in-law. That Gabriel was crazy about Joy was evident to anyone with eyes in his head. The two practically radiated love.

  "I know that now, but I didn't know it then. I never would have imagined someone like Gabriel could ever fall for someone like me."

  "And what's wrong with you? I've always thought you were perfect."

  "You, Max and Mom and Dad think so, but that's not what the rest of the world sees. They see a rather plain, average woman. Nothing spectacular. Nothing special enough to attract a man like Gabriel."

  "He's the lucky one, kiddo."

  "That's what the fairies said, but I didn't believe them. You don't believe them, either, and that's okay. They'll work it out. You'll see. Although there may be times you doubt it will all work out. I know when I was sitting on the roof and listening to Gabriel propose I was pretty sure nothing was ever going to be right."

  His sister paused a moment, then added, “But just to give you a little edge, maybe you should pick up a couple of Grace's books."

  "For what?” Nick might adore Grace, but reading her romance novels was hardly what he considered a worthwhile use of his time.

  "Forewarned is forearmed,” Joy said.

  "You sound like I'm going into battle."

  "Battles are your specialty, Counselor. And I think you're headed into the biggest one of your life,” Grace said.

  Suddenly, both women broke into laughter.

  Nick gave up. There was no talking rationally to two women who didn't possess a rational brain cell between them. He kissed Grace and Joy goodbye and headed back into the courthouse. He wasn't sure what they were up to—and by “they” he lumped together his entire family and his pseudo-fairy godmothers. And he had no rational theory as to why he dreamed about those supposed fairy godmothers before he ever met them, but he wasn't falling for any of it.

  Osborn Nicholas Aaronson didn't believe in love, and he certainly didn't believe in fairies. And until someone proved otherwise, he wasn't about to change his opinion.

  Chapter Three

  Wearily, Glory turned the small sign on the door to Closed. It hadn't been a bad day—not a bad day at all. The restaurant had had a pretty steady stream of customers, enough so that she had hopes that Glory's Chambers might come close to breaking even this week.

  She hadn't been sure about the restaurant's success the day Myrtle blew up the stove, or the day Fern tried to hang up a picture and ended up putting a bowling ball-sized hole in the brand new drywall, or the day Blossom fell off the stepladder and bit her tongue. Blossom's tongue had bled until Fern found a gallon of praline and cream ice cream in the freezer. The freezing confection had done the trick, and the bleeding had stopped.

  Of course, Glory could have sworn there hadn't been any ice cream in the freezer, and she'd just cleaned out the huge walk-in unit. But there it was, and they had all shared bowls of praline and cream, one of Glory's favorite flavors.

  She was growing accustomed to strange things happening around the small restaurant. Some days she worried that the building was haunted. Things moved while her back was turned. Things she swore they didn't have magically appeared. And then there was the day she'd caught Fern talking to thin air. All three of the women were just different enough that talking to thin air wasn't that odd, but Glory could have sworn she heard the thin air answer back. It had been a soft hissing sort of sound, so she couldn't make out the words, but it had sounded like someone talking.

  She hadn't worked up the nerve to ask Fern about it, and doubted she ever would. If the restaurant was haunted, the specter seemed benevolent enough, so she had pretty much decided to leave it be.

  Thinking about leaving shook Glory from her reverie. She glanced at her watch. It was way past time for her employees to be off work.

  "You three can leave that last load of dishes for me. I've got a few things to do before I head home,” she said. “You did a good job today."

  Today had been uneventful except for Fern letting Blossom try to make a hamburger that ended up quite burned, and the one table of Myrtle's that had caused quite a little commotion. Thinking about that made Glory realize she'd never gotten a straight answer from Myrtle about what happened with Nick the fireman.

  The swinging door between the kitchen and dining room flew open and the three ladies, each wearing a uniform in the color they seemed to favor, burst through.

  "Myrtle?” Glory picked up a wash rag and started scrubbing down the counter. “About that table?"

  "What table? I had a lot of tables today,” Myrtle asked innocently.

  Much too innocently. The last few weeks had taught her that when one of her employees used that tone something was wrong.

  "Your table that was involved in that fight. The one that sent our firefighter rushing from the restaurant. I wanted to know—"

  "Gotta go, Glory. The three of us are exhausted. It's been a long time since we put in a day's work like today,” Myrtle interrupted.

  "We've never put in a day like this,” Fern grumbled. “I love to cook, but honestly, all the plebeians want are cheeseburgers. Now, I like a good cheeseburger as much as anyone else, but I made seventy-three today, and that's seventy-two too many. I put a lovely spinach quiche on the special board and sold exactly two slices. I got that recipe from a jinn I met on the Riviera last fall. It's pure magic, and I only sold two."

  "Fern!” Myrtle gasped.

  "Who did you get the recipe from?” Glory asked, sure that she'd heard wrong. A jinn? Isn't that a genie?

  "Jim,” Myrtle barked. “She got the recipe from a man named Jim."

  "Jim?” It had sounded like Fern had said a jinn. What were those three up to now?

  "Well, actually it was Jacque, since he was French, but I called him Jim for short,” Fern said in a rush.

  "Seriously, dear, we've got to go,” Myrtle hustled the other two to the door. “Come on, girls."

  "Tomorrow by seven-thirty,” Glory called.

  "Seven-thirty it is,” Myrtle promised.

  They practically flew through the door. It wasn't until they had disappeared from sight that Glory realized she'd never gotten an answer about Myrtle's table. What on earth had those women said to Nick?

  Better yet, who were they to Nick?

  With his good looks they were probably part of his harem. Two women battling it out over who got him.

  Glory caught herself. No, she wasn't going to think about Nick Aaronson. Oh, she wasn't giving up on men completely. Myrtle was right, not all men were like Garth. Two-timing, boob-infatuated rats.

  But even though she didn't plan to swear off men forever, the ink on her divorce decree was barely dry. And she wasn't ready to think about men yet ... especially not gorgeous attorney-ish men. No, she wasn't going to think another thought about Nick Aaronson, or any man, for sometime to come.

  The bell on the door tinkled merrily. “Hello?"

  "We're closed,” Glory said as she whipped around. Her mouth dropped open.

  Nick.

  Maybe she wasn't going to think about him, but she was going to have to deal with him.

  "Sorry—Nick, wasn't it?” she asked as innocently as she could manage as soon as she got over the shock of seeing him at her door.

  Okay, so she knew his nam
e was Nick. She'd used it enough times after all, but she didn't want him to think she had given him a second thought, and certainly not a third or fourth thought.

  "Nick, right.” He walked toward her. “Listen, Glory, I want to talk to Myrtle, Fern and..."

  "Blossom,” she supplied.

  "Yeah, Blossom. Are they in the back?” He glanced at the kitchen door as if he expected them to burst through it.

  "Sorry, I let them go home."

  She'd spent the day thinking about Nick's hasty departure from the restaurant. Worrying about why he left was simply concern about business, she assured herself. The fact she couldn't get him off her mind had nothing to do with him as a person ... as a man. Not a thing at all.

  "Mind telling me what happened today? I mean, you ran out of here like a bat out of hell, and if something Myrtle said or did...” she let the sentence trail off, unsure of what she would do if it had been something Myrtle had done.

  "It wasn't exactly Myrtle."

  "Then what was it exactly? Something those women you were with did?"

  "Those women were my sister, Joy, and my sister-in-law, Grace. They wanted to fix me up."

  "Oh, sorry.” Glory had been fixed up in the past, before her marriage to Garth. And now that she thought about it, Garth had been a blind date as well. “Blind dates are the pits,” she said emphatically.

  "Thankfully, they gave up on the idea."

  "I guess you're a good attorney if you argued them out of setting you up. Women can be pretty insistent about those things.” Her friend Bonnie had set her up with Garth, totally ignoring Glory's objections. “It was a good friend that convinced me to date Garth, and that turned out to be a huge mistake."

  "Is Garth your boyfriend?"

  "My ex-husband."

  "Sorry."

  Glory wasn't sure if Nick was sorry she had been set up, or sorry she was divorced. “Don't be. He was slime. And if I hadn't listened to my friend and gone out with him, I could have avoided the whole incident. As it was, I wasted five years of my life on someone who didn't deserve even an hour of my time."

  "Again, sorry. But then you know how I feel. I mean, I understand Joy, Grace and my mother want the best for me, but they won't allow the possibility that the best for me might be staying single."

  Glory was about to agree when she realized she had crossed a line with Nick and they were getting far too personal.

  Being personal with Nick wasn't wise, especially since she'd spent the last couple seconds trying to decide just what color his eyes were. They were a dark brown that bordered on black. It was only by concentrating very hard that she could discern the separation of the iris from the pupil.

  No, she didn't care what color Nick's eyes actually were, and she didn't really care about his love life—or lack of one—or at least a lack of a meaningful relationship. He could have a series of one night stands, for all that Glory cared, or rather for all that Glory didn't care.

  "You wanted Myrtle?” she asked, anxious to change the subject and get back to more impersonal topics.

  "I had a few questions to ask her."

  "Anything I can help you with?"

  Nick studied Glory Chambers. For a few moments she'd been warm and engaging, but she'd retreated and was back to her impersonal, all-business mask. He had no problem recognizing the facade, because he so frequently wore a similar one. But it irrationally annoyed him all the same that she felt the need to hide from him.

  "Maybe. Could you tell me where she worked before she worked here? Where she's from? Actually any information on all three of your employees would be appreciated."

  "I'm sorry. I couldn't release that information without their approval, and besides...” she hesitated a moment. “I don't have it."

  "What do you mean you don't have it?"

  She flushed. And the crimson that tinged her cheeks seemed to emphasize the light sprinkling of freckles on the bridge of her nose. Nick wondered if the sun brought out more, or at least made them more pronounced. He cut off the thought. The last thing he needed to be thinking about right now was a woman. He had enough trouble with the women in his family and his newly inherited “fairy godmothers."

  "Well, this is embarrassing to admit,” Glory said slowly. “But Myrtle, Fern and Blossom just showed up and, before I knew what had happened, I had hired them. They didn't even care about how much, or rather how little, I could pay."

  "And you didn't think that was odd?” he pressed.

  "I think pretty much everything about those three is odd. And though the decision to hire them might not have been very business savvy, I don't know what I'd do without them."

  "Even though Myrtle tried to burn down the place?” he asked.

  "It was an accident,” she said quickly, defending her employees.

  "Have there been a lot of other accidents like that?"

  "Oh, there was a hole in the wall, a couple falls, and a crate of broken dishes—Blossom said she seemed to have a knack for breaking dishes—and quite a number of other problems. But things have gotten accomplished faster than I could have managed on my own. It was like magic."

  "Like magic you say?” Magic? Fairy magic? He eyed the redhead suspiciously. Maybe Glory was in on whatever scam his family and their “fairies” was trying to run on him.

  "Well, yeah. I mean, I left one night and all the booths and chairs were in pieces. I figured I'd have to replace the lot. Then the next morning I come in and, voila, like magic they're totally reconditioned and looking like new. The girls said they'd gotten so caught up in the work they'd worked the night away, but I can tell you that there was a lot more than one night's work to make these tables look this good. I still haven't figured out how they did it."

  Nick pressed the palm of his hand against his temple. His head was aching. It had been aching since Myrtle, Grace and Joy started this whole fairy godmother nonsense. Fern's discussion had intensified it. And what Glory was telling him didn't make him feel a bit better.

  "Are you okay?” There was concern in her voice, and for a moment the all-business Glory had receded again.

  "I don't think so.” This warm, compassionate Glory seemed so at odds with the brusk business-like demeanor she wore like a suit of armor. It was her eyes Nick focused on. Dark blue and radiating compassion. Those eyes drew him in and held him for what seemed like an eternity. “Sorry. It's been a bad day. A bad couple of weeks, actually. A hot shower, a hot meal and a solid night's rest, and I'll be just fine."

  "If you're sure?"

  He could hear the doubt in her voice. The fact she was worried about him warmed him, though he wasn't sure why. “Positive."

  "I could drive you home,” she offered.

  "No, that's all right.” Nick rose and walked to the door.

  "Well, goodnight then,” Glory called after him. “You can come talk to the girls yourself tomorrow."

  "I just might do that."

  Or, if he was smart, he'd simply forget all about Glory's Chambers and everyone who worked there, he thought as the door slammed behind him.

  Glory Chambers wasn't the sort of woman a man dated casually and then walked away from. No, she was the kind of woman who would see a couple of dates as the beginning of a relationship. Hell, if Nick wanted a relationship all he'd have to do is turn himself over to his mother, Joy and Grace.

  * * * *

  "Nick was here last night,” Glory said conversationally the next morning as she wiped down a counter in the kitchen. Her strategy was simple. She would question Blossom while Fern was starting the pancake batter and Myrtle was busy out front.

  "Nick?” Blossom asked much too innocently.

  "Nick.” Glory stopped scrubbing the counter and locked gazes with her blonde employee. “You remember Nick, don't you, Blossom. After all, you wanted to do mouth-to-mouth on him."

  She flushed. “Oh, that Nick."

  "Yeah, that Nick. Seems he has some questions."

  "About you?” She clapped her hands. “Tha
t's great. Once a couple starts asking questions about each other, it's not long until he's asking the question with a capital Q."

  "What on earth are you talking about?” Glory snapped.

  "What Blossom meant was, what did he want to know?” Fern said—batter either done or forgotten—joining the conversation.

  "He wanted to know if I had information on the three of you, and I realized I didn't. Not that I would have given it to him if I had, but I should have some information on file."

  "What would you like to know about us, Glory?” Fern asked pleasantly.

  "Like where did you work before this? Where are you from? Next-of-kin ... the normal kind of application questions.” She'd ultimately been responsible for hiring and firing thousands of people at Michaelson's. Oh, she hadn't done it directly, but the buck stopped at her desk. So, why was she having such a problem getting information from three older ladies?

  "What would those questions tell you that our working here hasn't?” Fern asked. “I can cook. If you have doubts, let me whip up a batch of those pancakes for your breakfast."

  Blossom added, “And I can wash dishes—"

  "When you're not breaking them,” Fern said with a scoff.

  "That's not fair.” Blossom looked as if she was going to cry.

  "But truthful. It's very, very truthful,” Fern said. “Anyway, you know that Myrtle can—"

  "Myrtle can what?” Myrtle asked as she banged through the swinging door that connected the dining room and kitchen.

  "Myrtle can wait,” Fern said.

  "I don't want to wait, I want you to answer my question.” Myrtle looked annoyed, her face flushed to almost the same shade of red as her hair.

  "No, you can wait on tables, I meant,” Fern hastily amended.

  "Of course I can. Any fool can take an order and carry a dinner plate."

  "Which is why those tables yesterday got their orders mixed?” Fern asked.

  "That was just a small mistake. And my mistakes aren't the point,” she said with a glare. “The point is, what are you three talking about? The restaurant opens in five minutes."

  "Glory was telling us that Nick came here last night."

  Glory had lost control of the conversation and had no idea how it had happened. She was supposed to be grilling Blossom, getting answers and getting to work. Instead, she was being interrogated.