by Sue Gibson
The hotel's phone base was faced with a row of tiny lights and miniscule type. Lily gritted her teeth and bent to decipher the fine print before choosing an option. Glancing at his card, she stabbed in his residence number.
Bravado seeped from her rigid form with every ring. Maybe he wasn't home yet? She was certain he'd said he lived only a couple of blocks from the hotel. Maybe he went out somewhere after he left the hotel? She chewed on her lower lip.
Five rings. Maybe he went to a club? A club crowded with Toronto's movers and shakers, the kind of people that drank designer cocktails and nibbled crab cakes. She groaned softly as she imagined the newspaper reporter snapping a second shot of the city's favorite man-about-town. Only this photo would show him coupled with a sophisticated woman, her chin tilted upward, laughing knowingly at his remarks.
Lily sank into the bed's downy coverlet and clicked off the phone.
The faux-Moroccan ceiling tiles blurred as she stared upward. Why am I so blind when it comes to men? Doug couldn't commit to a woman who might become a burden, and apparently to Ethan she was merely a means to an end.
Her fingers went to her cheek and the place where he'd smoothed a soft kiss. When she'd looked into his eyes hadn't she seen her own vulnerability mirrored back? She burrowed into the pillows.
Tears slid from the corners of her eyes, pooling onto the coverlet. Lily swiped at her eyes and shifted from the wet spot. Through the bathroom doorway she spied a box of tissue placed next to a huge whirlpool tub.
Snatching the complimentary robe from its hook, she plucked a bath product from the selection of tiny glass bottles. Soon steam, scented with lavender, billowed from the tub.
Water lapped against her chin and slowly her legs stretched to fill the length of the tub. She tipped her head back until it rested against the tile.
Tomorrow, she'd visit Delaney's shop. Her best friend had been at her side through the dog days of the broken engagement and had become an expert at serving up just the right amount of vicarious indignation, peppered with her cutting sense of humor.
Lily slid deeper into the silky water. If I had even half of Delaney's in-your-face approach to life, Lily thought, Ethan's big real estate deal would be dead in the water already.
than had covered the few blocks from the hotel to his condo in long strides without noticing the concrete high-rises that lined the street or hearing the hum of late-night traffic. Hands stuffed in pockets, head down, he walked by his doorman and into the elevator. Lily and his misplaced kiss were all he could think about. He'd wanted to kiss her so badly, but he needed to get this whole island deal behind them so there would no blurring of lines. He would hate for Lily to think he was trying to influence her decision. Fact was, he wanted to kiss her whether she agreed to the sale or not.
Ethan nudged Emma's door open and slipped silently into her room. In the pink glow cast from her bedside lamp, his sister slept soundly. Her face, free of any worry lines, belied her age, and looked almost cherubic in the soft light. Kind of like the chubby little angels on the cover of her favorite book, he thought as he stood in the peaceful room.
Checking in on his twin sister was a habit formed in the months after their mother left. He'd slept better back then, knowing she'd slept safely, her arms laced through a tumble of pillows, surrounded by Clarence and her other stuffed animals.
Here in Emma's world, his life made sense. Had real purpose. Her world was measured and predictable. His, well ...
Ethan tipped his head back and sighed audibly, remembering a day chocked full with hurried meetings and an unforgiving timetable. But it was the only life he knew and he was good at it. Real good. The rush of maneuvering an innovative concept through the channels of paperwork and watching the business grow to international proportions was intoxicating. But exhausting. He raked his fingers through his hair as if to rid himself of thoughts of Weatherall Enterprises.
A sliver of moon rising over the condos near the lake caught his eye. A smile pulled at his mouth. Was Lily looking at the same moon?
He glanced at Emma's sleeping form again, wanting to tell her about his last couple of days. Her even breaths stirred Emma's form only slightly. He turned and walked quietly toward the door.
"Big E," a sleep-laden voice called out. "Come back. Tell me something."
It was a game they'd played whenever Ethan came home from work. Emma would insist he tell her something, anything, about his day. Whether it was a story about the broken vending machine in the coffee room, his doubts about a flagging mutual fund he'd bought on speculation, or even a description of Callie's latest crazy hairstyle, Emma enjoyed them equally. When satisfied she'd heard enough about Ethan's day, she would then share hers.
"Emma, I'm sorry. Didn't want to wake you. Just checking in." Ethan hesitated for a second. Sorry he'd disturbed his sister, but happy they'd connected after all.
"It's okay" Emma shifted higher until she rested in a sea of plump pillows. She patted the edge of the bed and pleaded with her sleep-heavy eyes. "Just one little story."
Ethan smiled and pushed into the pile of muchmended teddy bears. "All right, then" He cleared his throat loudly for effect and mentally scanned for the most significant event.
"I met a pretty woman named Lily," he began, ..and she lives in a log home on the shores of Loon Lake and she loves to fish" His words fell easily into the dim room, pleasant and predictable, like a fairy tale.
"Wow. Really, Big E?"
"Really. But she has another job too. She takes care of the lake, so people won't ruin it."
Excitement heightened her tone. "She sounds like a good lady. Can she come here someday?" Emma pulled free of the comforter and clapped her hands.
"Actually, she's here now. At our hotel"
He pictured Lily settling into the gold and white suite. Maybe phoning her father to discuss his offer for Osprey Island or maybe going over the notes from her meeting earlier in the day.
"But she goes back to Loon Lake tomorrow. This isn't her kind of place" His lighthearted words slowed as he neared the end of his sentence and he realized how apt his words really were. By tomorrow afternoon she'd be rounding Greensly Bay, her hair flying in the wind.
Could his overly generous offer sway a woman so committed to family and tradition? He remembered the ancient snapshot of Grandpa Greensly centered in the Hideaway's hallway and his gut told him it wasn't likely. Even with the aging Hideaway in need of a cash injection, Lily would hate to sell the island he needed to meet his father's stringent conditions and finish the project he'd devoted his life to for the last eighteen months. He dropped his head back and stared unseeingly at the ceiling. So much for a happy ending to this particular story.
If a childhood full of boarding schools and separations from Emma had taught him anything, it was that happy endings belonged only in books. Certainly his parent's ill-fated marriage hadn't done anything to change that opinion.
He pulled himself heavily from the bed. "Back to sleep, okay," he said briskly, noting her drooping eyes. "How about I hear your story in the morning over breakfast? I bet we could convince Miss Scott to make us waffles with syrup and bananas" The doting Miss Scott liked nothing better than feeding her two favorite people and didn't get the chance nearly as often as she liked.
Sidetracked, Emma nodded emphatically and cocooned into her comforter. "G'night, Big E"
The phone purred from the living room.
"Wait, Ethan," Emma beckoned him closer. "Miss Scott says you're going back to Loon Lake soon. Why don't you take Lily something nice from the city? So she'll like it more"
He patted Emma's shoulder affectionately. "Good idea, Em. Now get some rest"
What would make Lily like city life? She wasn't into designer clothes or jewelry. Cash for her research project maybe, he thought ruefully, as he padded down the hallway toward the ringing phone. Weatherall Enterprises routinely supported nonprofit groups.
His steps slowed as he considered the options. He stopped
and stared into the darkness. Would she accept help from him now? Or would it look too much like a bribe? His shoulders dropped with the weight of the hour and the problem.
He had the connections.... He could leave Weatherall off the list. That's it. His feet moved forward on the strength of the decision. A few introductions to the right people were really all she needed. Lily was a passionate speaker for her cause, she could take it from there.
The phone stopped ringing as he strode into his home office and clicked on the computer. Hunched over the glowing screen, Ethan monitored the names and addresses of Toronto's business elite as the electronic pages scrolled past.
Carefully, he weeded out his father's cronies, men who ate neophytes like Lily for breakfast. He slowed the screen as potential investors presented themselves. His cursor hovered on the name of a dot-com success story; Mark Roscoe-young, successful, and according to Callie, hugely attractive to woman everywhere. He stared at the man's name, mulling over what he knew of Roscoe. He pictured Mark and Lily together, Lily's maps and graphs spread across an intimate table for two. Mark would marvel at her passion and sign on as a benefactor to her cause, winning Lily's respect forever.
He jabbed and held the double arrow down key to advance the screen and watched as the data on Roscoe Enterprises blurred in a warp-speed advance toward the next potential financier. There were lots of others, no reason to jump at the first one.
Ethan leaned into the screen as the information on the Calgary-based Southerland Group appeared. Now here was something. Solid company, credible history, middle-aged, married CEO ...
The sign in Delaney's hair salon and art gallery window was flipped to the Closed side. Held captive in the black and chrome barber's chair, Lily was beginning to regret her decision to let Delaney trim her hair.
"Ouch."
"Sorry, Lily. But really, your hair's a mess" Delaney Forbes stretched Lily's tangled blond curls through the comb. "Why don't you let me cut it shorter? You could do short. Wispy little bangs maybe?" She piled Lily's hair on top of her head. "A few streaks?"
She should have known Delaney would push for a more drastic change. They'd had a version of this conversation too many times to count. "No way. I know it's a disaster. But I like my hair. I love the wind blowing through it when I'm on the lake. Makes me feel free"
"Free of any kind of style," Delaney muttered through gritted teeth as she worked detangling solution into her best friend's hair. "Now that needs to soak in for a few minutes," she said, and spun the chair to face the window and Buttermilk Falls' main street.
"Thanks for taking me without an appointment, Delaney," Lily said. They watched a minivan struggle to park in front of the Laundromat. "I knew you'd make me feel better."
"That's what I'm here for, girlfriend. Besides, it's a slow week"
And that's what Lily loved the most about Delaney. She held back nothing, pulled no punches. She'd listened attentively to Lily's story about Ethan, the kiss-that-went-astray, and the deal he'd tried to pull.
"So, the way I see it, Lily, is that Ethan is genuinely interested in you. And, hair issues aside"Delaney smiled sweetly-"who could blame him?" She turned Lily's chair back to the mirror and with a game-show-host wave, deemed her gorgeous. "Or, he's overdosed on his own testosterone and trampling little people is just another day's work."
Lily shook her head at Delaney's remark and quickly leaped to defend his character. "No," she interjected, "there's a human being lurking under the Armani suit, somewhere."
Delaney rolled her eyes. "So just so I'm clear. You're not mad at him anymore?"
"Well, no. Not really. I don't know him well enough to be certain if he was up to something or not. But I believe you can tell a lot about a person by their eyes. And I liked what I saw behind his when we were talking."
"Those were dollar signs, sister."
"I saw a glimpse of humanity while we were in the boat too," Lily continued, ignoring Delaney's aside. "He was genuinely excited about the opening of the Nirvana."
"Who wouldn't get exited about making more millions, Lily?"
"So what do I do? He's coming back for the Friends of Loon Lake meeting tomorrow night."
Delaney narrowed her skillfully made-up eyes and tapped a lacquered nail against her chin. "Do nothing. Be cool. You e-mailed your refusal to sell the island, right?"
"Right. In a boldface, one-inch font"
"So he knows you won't sell. So here's the thing: If he asks you out or makes a move, then I'd say he likes you-not just your island.
If he gives you the brush off ... well, there's your answer." Delaney began fiddling with the arrangement of framed prints covering the back wall of the shop, effectively ending the conversation and switching from an advisory to a shopkeeping mode.
Lily considered Delaney's statement. If it only was that simple. She chewed her bottom lip.
The bell over the shop tinkled, heralding Tommy Sands and the arrival of the Toronto Star.
"There you go, Delaney" Buttermilk Falls' local reporter acknowledged both women with a shy smile. "Better have a look at page seventeen. Social page is pretty interesting today. Already sold more of these papers today than the Buttermilk Falls Herald."
Delaney grabbed the newspaper and thumbed quickly to the society column.
"Lily, it's you! You're in the paper!" Delaney's gaze remained fastened on the page as she continued to speak. "What's this?" She pushed her nose deeper into the paper. "Urban legend, Ethan Weatherall, was spotted canoodling with one freshfrom-the-farm Lily Greensly. If it's true that opposites attract, then this mismatch just might work"
Lily leaped from the chair. "Give me that" She snapped the paper open, her gaze immediately drawn to the photo at the bottom of the page. "Why can't I ever look decent in a picture?"
"It's not so bad," Delaney said, her voice lacking conviction. "You look ... young."
"I look awestruck, like a teenager out on the town for the first time. It's not fair, Delaney. After all, I lived in Toronto for four years.
"True."
"Okay, I admit, I hardly left the biology labs, but still.... Oh, who am I kidding Delaney, I may have just as well got my degree by correspondence for all the socializing I did."
She continued to scan the article, searching for a reference to the University's marine research program. Dripping with innuendo, the reporter had managed to link the grand opening of the Nirvana with her work, followed with a brief mention of Professor Nesbitt's program and his goal of protecting Ontario's inland fisheries.
Lily let out a breath. A mention in a national paper certainly would raise the program's profile. The reporter's humiliating farm-girl jibe might be worth it if Dr. Nesbitt received even one donation from the paper's coverage.
"Delaney! Get this goop out of my hair. I need to go home and call Professor Nesbitt." She slid forward in the chair and began fumbling with the strings of the plastic cape Delaney had draped over her T-shirt.
"Hold on, missy. Are you going to take this lying down?" Delaney flapped the society page in Lily's face. "That reporter practically called you a hick."
Delaney scrunched down and positioned her sleek black bob next to her friend's long, tangled tresses. "Come on, Lily." She fingered a section of dripping strands with obvious anticipation. "Give me an hour and I'll make you as sophisticated as any of these city gals," she wheedled, pointing to a photo taken at the opening of a swanky bar in Toronto's entertainment district.
"But I don't want to look like ... that." Lily grimaced at the picture of a lanky model type with an asymmetrical bob swinging provocatively across one eye.
"Trust me. A good stylist knows her client's lifestyle. I'd create a look even you could manage"
Delaney cringed at Lily's disparaging look. "I mean with your early mornings and limited styling skills you need something simple and fresh, but sexy and fun.
Maybe she's right, Lily thought as Delaney began rifling through a stack of industry magazines. I've been weari
ng my hair this way since I was fourteen.
Doug had admired her youthful look. She rubbed the pale band of skin where her engagement ring had been. He'd said he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her too.
She glanced again at the society page. Why couldn't they take her seriously? A sobering thought raised its ugly head. Would it be easier to raise funds if she looked more professional?
Would Ethan have felt more comfortable presenting his offer earlier in the evening if he'd considered her an equal partner when it came to business? Could the humiliating end to their evening have been prevented with a better haircut?
It was definitely time to move on. Make a change. "Delaney?" Her voice rang louder than she intended.
"Yes, Lily." Delaney stood frozen, the latest issue of Head Style magazine clutched to her chest.
"Promise you won't make me regret this."
"You have my word," Delaney said solemnly and reached eagerly for a clump of blond curls. "Just tell me you're doing this for yourself. Not for me or Ethan Weatherall"
Lily twisted a strand of hair around her finger and considered her answer. Up until a few days ago it might have been for somebody else. But she was tired of hiding from the world. She was bright and sexy and fun and it was time everyone knew it.
Hey, maybe pain does make you stronger. "Do your thing, Delaney Forbes."
Ethan put his shoulder to the library's glass door and shoved it open. His long strides took him toward the buzz of conversation and the aroma of a fresh pot of coffee.
Would Lily be here? He knew outsiders generally fared badly in a room full of locals. Even if she was mad at him, at least she'd be a familiar face. His pulse quickened as he recalled the softness of her tumbling curls and how sweet her hair smelled. And the kiss. The small, sweet kiss had brightened his spirits. The sky looked bluer today, the grass greener.
Cliches are cliches for a reason, he decidedshe was like a breath of fresh country air in his stale city life.
His hand slid to the breast pocket of his jacket and he fingered the e-mail he had received from Lily. The giant refusal. He'd spilled his coffee on his shirt when Callie had showed him the printout. No negotiation, no thanks for the offer. Just no.
