Miracles for Nick

by Holly Fuhrmann

  No, that was Peter Pan.

  "Fairyland.” That's where she'd ship them. She pulled her car into the small reserved space behind the restaurant and sighed.

  She'd spent her night imagining all the many ways she could fire the women. And all her fantasies ended with the three of them slinking out the door and never being seen again. Unfortunately, as tempting an idea as sending her three fairy employees packing was, Glory knew she wasn't going to do it. They had pitched in and helped get the restaurant cleaned up and opened.

  Oh, they may have a mishap or two, but there was no way Glory could have done it all. The three women might be slightly off-center, but they were Glory's responsibility now. That sense of responsibility wouldn't allow her to send them back to wherever it was they came from.

  So she wasn't going to fire them, but she was going to have a talk with them. Glory waited for an after breakfast lull before the lunch crowd started coming, but there wasn't one.

  Lucky for them, Glory thought as she put on a fresh pot of coffee.

  "Yeah, lucky for us,” Myrtle whispered as she filled a mug to the brim with coffee.

  Glory whirled around. “Lucky for you what?"

  "Lucky that things have been so busy. Otherwise, we'd be getting your lecture.” Myrtle paused a moment. “You thought about firing us, but if you fire us just for being fairies, you'd be discriminating. I mean, we've done our jobs and done them well. Just because we're fairies doesn't mean we don't do quality work."

  At Glory's frown, Myrtle hastened to add, “Well, except for a small kitchen fire, a few broken dishes and a couple mixed up orders, our work has been above reproach."

  "I don't think there are any laws on the books against discriminating against fairies.” Glory grabbed the spray bottle of disinfectant and gave the counter a healthy squirt.

  "You could call Nick and check.” That Myrtle was hoping she'd call Nick was obvious from her tone of voice.

  "I'm not calling Nick. I know what you're up to, but I'm not falling for it. I'm not falling for Nick, and you can't make me."

  "Oh, honey, you're right, we can't. We may have gotten the council to change a couple of the rules, but the rule about not being able to manipulate people's emotions is carved in stone. Anything you feel for Nick is totally your own. No magic involved. Love is magic enough on its own."

  "I'm not in love with Nick. I will never be in love with Nick."

  "If you say so."

  "I say so.” She might think Nick was good-looking—any woman would, what with his dark hair and even darker eyes—eyes so dark a woman could sink into their depths and never emerge. Eyes so dark she might see herself reflected in them if his face was over hers, peering into her soul. Eyes that—

  Glory shut off the thoughts of Nick's dreamy eyes. She wasn't interested.

  "Pardon me, miss,” a customer at the counter called.

  Glory turned her thoughts away from Nick Aaronson and back to work, aware that the interruption was giving Myrtle a chance to escape. Well, let her, because Glory would have her talk with all three of them after the store had closed. They could run, but they couldn't hide.

  As she was giving the customer a quick coffee refill the postman walked into the restaurant."Excuse me, miss?"

  "May I help you?” She turned and set the coffee pot back on the burner.

  "I've got a certified letter for you.” He reached in his bag and withdrew a large manilla envelope and clipboard.

  "I'll sign for it.” Glory reached for both.

  He pulled the envelope back. “Are you Myrtle?"

  "No, I'm Glory Chambers, the owner.” The owner. The boss. Too bad she forgot that with Myrtle and her two cohorts.

  "Sorry. This has to be signed for by a Myrtle."

  "Myrtle who?” If the “fairies” wouldn't give her any information, she'd have to get it any way she could.

  "No last name. Just Myrtle. Sort of like Cher, or Madonna, I guess. Is she some star?"

  "Star isn't the word I'd use,” Glory mumbled.

  "Just what word would you use, Glory?” Myrtle asked from behind her.

  Glory whirled around and came face-to-face with her redheaded employee. “Would you stop sneaking up behind me today!"

  Myrtle didn't even bother to respond. Instead she turned to the postman and smiled. “I'm Myrtle."

  "This is for you. You have to sign.” He thrust a clipboard at her, and Myrtle scribbled her name.

  Glory leaned over her shoulder to see what she signed. Her name ... just her first name. “Have a good day,” the postman said with a small wink.

  "He was flirting with you,” Glory said, as he walked out of the building.

  "And why wouldn't he flirt with me? Why, in my younger days I had men lined up just waiting for a chance to take me on a date."

  Myrtle tore open the envelope and without a word handed the contents to Glory.

  "What is it?” Glory asked as she scanned the very legal looking document.

  "It's official. We're being sued."

  * * * *

  "He'll be with you shortly,” Nick's receptionist promised.

  Glory took a seat, wondering if she should wait or slink out of there while the slinking was good. “Have you worked for Nick long?” she asked in a bid to start a conversation that would make her forget how worried she was. That was the only reason she asked. It had nothing to do with a curiosity about Nick Aaronson.

  The middled-aged brunette nodded. “I've been with him since he started. You couldn't have picked a better attorney."

  Not waiting for Glory to respond, and obviously warming to a much-loved topic, she went on in a rush. “Did you know over twenty percent of his cases are pro-bono? He says he didn't go into law to get rich, but to make a difference."

  The woman paused a moment, her face growing more serious as she said, “And sometimes that need to make a difference takes a toll. He's had a bad time of it lately. Too many clients he can't believe in, he says. I keep hoping someone special will come along and—"

  The phone rang, stopping the chatty receptionist mid-sentence. Pro-bono work? She couldn't remember Garth ever volunteering to do anything, and doubted making a difference had anything to do with Garth getting into law.

  A few muffled responses, and the receptionist looked at Glory and said, “You can go in now."

  She might be making changes in her life, but she hoped there was still enough of the old-Glory's persuasiveness left in her to convince Nick he had to take this case.

  Deciding to start the meeting on the offensive, she entered and said, “Nick, I'm not going to beat around the bush. You know why I'm here. You have to help them.” She didn't need to explain who them referred to. They both knew.

  Nick's offices weren't exactly what Glory would have imagined. She would have guessed that simple, elegant and functional office would have suited Nick. Instead, his office was in one of Erie's older historical homes. There was a richness and a plushness that didn't quite seem to fit with what she knew of Nick. Just as donating so much of time to pro-bono work didn't quite jive with what she thought she knew about this man—not that she knew a lot about Nick.

  Not that she wanted to know more, despite what the fairies wanted.

  Despite the fact she didn't believe for one minute her employees were fairy godmothers, she realized she'd started thinking for them as fairies. Glory gave herself a mental shake. That would have to stop.

  Nick sat across the desk, looking especially ferocious but saying nothing. If they were indeed trapped in a fairy tale, Glory would say that at that moment he looked more like the Big Bad Wolf than Prince Charming.

  "They need you,” she pressed. “You have to help them."

  "I don't have to do anything. And I don't want to be the attorney for three fairies."

  Why was he being so stubborn? Glory answered her unspoken question herself—because he was a man. Darn the entire race.

  When Myrtle had handed her the letter, Glory knew she was
going to help them. They might have fairy-delusions, but they had good hearts. And when she'd needed them, they'd been there. How could she not be there now when they needed her?

  And helping them meant getting them an attorney—getting them Nick Aaronson. He was the only attorney she knew, and the saying went the devil you know beats the devil you don't.

  "I don't know who else to turn to.” It galled her to admit that.

  "Don't turn. Just dump the lot and hire someone else to work at the restaurant. People with real last names, social security numbers and addresses.” He tossed the letter back across his desk at her. “Don't hire any more fairies, and don't expect me to help with the three you already have."

  "Nick!” The fact that Myrtle, Fern and Blossom thought she and Nick were meant to be together just proved they weren't fairy godmothers. There was no way Glory was going to fall for such a frustratingly obnoxious man. Where was the man who wants to make a difference his receptionist was telling her about?

  "Glory, don't you see, this is just a ploy to get the two of us together."

  "How will defending Myrtle, Fern and Blossom get us together?” She pushed the letter back at him.

  "I'll have to see them, and that means I'll have to see you. That's their plan. They're going to keep forcing us together until we finally give in and fall in love.” He pushed the letter back at her with such force that it almost skittered off the desk. “And I don't plan on falling in love."

  Glory stopped the letter with the palm of her hand and batted it back to him. “Nick, you're talking as if you believe they're really fairies. You don't, do you? I mean, it's just some delusion all three of them share."

  Nick paused, his hand on the letter. No, he didn't believe in fairies, but it seemed as if his siblings and their spouses did. Joy and Max both swore that Myrtle, Fern and Blossom were the real deal—one hundred percent, bonafide fairy godmothers.

  "No,” he said slowly. “I don't believe in fairies, miracles, happily-ever-afters, or matches made in heaven. Or in Fairyland for that matter. Life is what we make of it. Magic and miracles, those are just things people who haven't made anything of their lives believe in.” He pushed the letter back across the desk. “I've made my life into exactly what I want it to be. I don't need any crutches. And I especially don't need any fairies."

  "Right. Magic and miracles are just tools for the weak-minded and the weak-willed. That being said, I still need an attorney.” Glory shuttled the piece of paper, which was looking decidedly worse for wear, back at Nick.

  "You don't need an attorney. They need an attorney.” That was the truth. Glory didn't have to be here. And yet here she was, arguing on behalf of three crazy women. A spark of admiration lit in Nick. But he wasn't about to let her sway him to her cause.

  "They, Glory—not you—need an attorney. Better yet, all four of you need a psychiatrist. I'd send you to Max, but I'm worried about his sanity these days.” A psychiatrist who believed in fairy godmothers? What would the AMA make of that?

  "Glory, this,” he waved the ragged piece of paper, “isn't about you."

  "Wrong. For better or worse, those three signed on with the restaurant. They worked as hard as I did getting it opened. Now, for better or worse—and it looks like worse—they're my responsibility. So I need an attorney for them. I need you, Nick."

  Though he knew she was just talking about legal expertise, the words hung heavily between them. She needed him. He liked the sound of that.

  Oh, he wasn't about to fall in love with her, but Glory Chambers was glorious in her defense of fairies. She'd risen from her chair and was glaring down at him. She faced him across the desk, not the least bit intimidated by him, or even a little bit impressed. She wasn't here because she wanted to be here but because she needed him to represent the fairies.

  He wouldn't mind hearing I need you, Nick, under other circumstances. But with all this talk about happily-ever-afters, he wasn't about to risk finding out just how glorious Glory Chambers could be. One night of passion would have Glory, the three pseudo-fairies and his entire family hearing wedding bells. No, a night of wild sex with Glory was out of the question, and because it was, staying as far away from her as he could get was a good course of action.

  Last night he hadn't dreamed of Lola, and he hadn't dreamed of fairies. He'd dreamed of Glory—a wild and exhilarating dream that had haunted him all day. Now seeing her in his office passionately defending the fairies made him think his dreams were nowhere near as glorious as a real night with her would be.

  "Glory, I can't represent fairies ... or rather women who think they're fairies. Can you imagine what it would do to my reputation?"

  "And do you imagine any other attorney in town who will defend them? Face it Aaronson, you're it."

  "Then they're out of luck. I don't owe them anything.” Realizing he was still fingering the letter, he thrust it back across the desk.

  Glory caught it and held onto it this time. “You'd let three women get taken to the cleaners by some woman who bought into their delusion, just because you don't want to tarnish your reputation?"

  "Yes."

  "Nick.” Behind that one word, just his name whispered softly and sadly, he heard her disappointment. And though it didn't make sense, disappointing Glory cut at him. She rose, letter clutched in her hand, and walked toward his office door.

  "I'm sorry.” Nick wasn't sure if he was sorry he'd disappointed her, or sorry he felt he had to disappoint her. But either way, he was sorry.

  She turned, one hand holding the letter, the other on the doorknob. “Never mind. We'll do it without you."

  "Do what?” He realized he'd risen from his chair and trailed her across the room. He didn't remember following her, but he must have because he was standing close enough to catch the scent of her perfume. Soft and floral. The scent didn't quite fit the tough image she tried to project.

  An image of making love to glorious Glory in a flower-scented field flitted across his mind's eye. Glory, lying beneath him, her titian hair spread across the flowers, red against red. She was smiling at him. Not just one of those little social smiles she'd perfected, but a true, from-the-depths-of-her-soul sort of smile. He wanted to know what that kind of uninhibited smile would be like coming from Glory. He wanted to learn her body inside and out. But more dangerous than that, he wanted to know her inside and out.

  He shut the thought off as quickly and firmly as he could. “What are you going to do?” he asked.

  "I'll ask around town, and I'll find someone to represent them. Firing them and distancing myself from them might be the smart business move, but I can't do it. They might be slightly delusional, but they're basically sweet and hardworking women. I won't let them get taken to the cleaners. They pitched in and helped me get the restaurant open. They stood by me, and now I'll stand by them, even if I have to represent them myself."

  "You're not an attorney.” But he was. And as such he knew better than to study the determination that caused her lips to pucker ever so slightly. Her puckered lips made him think about kissing.

  Kissing Glory. Making love to Glory. No! Both ideas were totally out of the question.

  "I might not be an attorney, but I was married to one. I did pick up some useful information from Garth."

  She still stood with one hand on the doorknob, as if ready to bolt if need be. Nick reached out and touched her elbow. “I know Bill Richards, the attorney representing this woman according to the letter of intent. He'll eat you alive."

  "Do you have another suggestion?"

  It wasn't Bill Richards eating her alive she had to worry about, Nick realized.

  "One.” Rather than pulling her into his arms, he simply leaned forward—his hand still on her elbow, the other hanging loosely at his side—and let his lips lightly brush hers. He paused and looked into her eyes, those startling blue eyes, waiting for some sign he should stop. When no sign came, he kissed her again, deeper and longer this time, still just touching her lips, le
aving her a way out if she chose to take it.

  She tasted of peppermint, some dim recess of his mind registered. Peppermint and wild flowers. Red hair on red flowers. His dream came rushing back, only he was dreaming it awake—dreaming it with Glory.

  He deepened the kiss, needing to get closer to her, as close as he could. He—

  She ripped her elbow out of his grasp and drew back panting. “What do you think you're doing?"

  "Kissing you?"

  "Why?"

  He shrugged. “I don't know.” He didn't have a clue. Kissing Glory was the last thing he should be doing. His life didn't need complications, and Glory and her three fairies were COMPLICATIONS in all capital letters.

  "Well, don't do it again."

  "Was kissing me so bad?"

  Glory looked as if she was going to tell him just how bad it was, but then she closed her mouth. He watched her mentally pull herself back together. “Just don't do it again.” She turned and started to open the door.

  Nick slammed his hand against it, shutting it. He should let her walk out of his life. Then he could forget his three fairy godmothers, forget the redhead who had taken over his every waking and dreaming thought, and just get on with life. But he knew he wasn't going to do that.

  Damn.

  "I'll do it."

  She stopped and turned to face him, looking confused. “Do what? Represent the fairies?"

  Nick wanted to say no, wanted to shout hell no, but instead he nodded. He wanted to know if Glory's look of confusion had to do with his offer to represent the fairies, or if she was confused by his kiss.

  He wanted her to be confused by that kiss because it was sure as hell confusing him.

  "Are you representing them because we kissed?"

  "No. I have no idea why I kissed you like that, but I won't be doing it again. I'll represent them because you're right. No one else will."

  "I know that they'll be thrilled.” Her tone said that she was anything but.

  "Let me finish. I'll do it if they swear they won't constantly try to throw us together. You and I have to have an understanding right up front that we might have kissed—"

  "You kissed me. I didn't do anything."