Beauty and The Best (Once-Upon-A-Time Romance)

by Fennell, Judi

“So, Todd, what’s going on these days?” Barbara asked. “We barely see you, yet you seem to be out and about all over the place.”

  “Look here, Miss Nosy-Pants.” Todd’s smile brought a blush to Barbara’s face. “I have a life and I’m living it. I’m here at least twice a month. Not too shabby. Plus I’ve decided to start a project that will keep me busy.”

  “Project?” Mike and Barb asked in stereo from opposite ends of the table.

  “Yes, project.” There. He’d said the words. Now he was committed. “I’ve decided it’s time to open the attic above the garage.” He held out his hand for Jolie’s plate. She was quick to catch on. Part of the “getting” thing they had between them?

  He filled her salad plate. “I’m hiring a crew to come out this week.”

  He hadn’t quite expected the dead silence.

  “Open the attic?” Again in stereo.

  Nor the disbelief. Okay, so two years was a long time, but wasn’t this what they wanted? For him to move on?

  “Uh, yeah.” He took a bite of the salad. Ambrosia. “You made the salad, didn’t you?” he asked Jolie. Barb was a good cook, but nothing like Jolie.

  “With Barbara’s ingredients. How’d you know?”

  There she was, Good Sport Jolie, again. “I recognize the little twirl to the vegetables.”

  Thank God Jolie could carry on a conversation. And since Mike and Barb were looking at him slack-jawed, as if he’d grown a second head, he was really glad he’d brought Jolie along.

  For conversation?

  Yes for conversation. Great. Now he had to argue with his conscience. He stabbed the arugula.

  Barb was the first to recover. “Oh, Todd, that’s terrific news! So exciting. How wonderful!”

  “Does this mean you’ll be showing them?” Mike finally reattached his bottom jaw. “Where do you want to have it? Private or open to the public? Are there enough for an entire show or will you be doing more? When are you planning?”

  Hadn’t Mike heard a word he’d said? He wasn’t going to paint landscapes any more. He was done. That phase was over. He knew it as sure as he was sitting here.

  “Mike, I am not showing again. Nor will I add to that collection. You can have them. Hang them in the office, throw them out, donate them to a hospital, I don’t care. But no show. I’ll never do another one again.”

  “Oh, but Todd, you can’t mean that.” Barbara reached over for his hand and he pulled it out of the way.

  “I do mean it, Barb. It’s time to put the past behind me. And that includes my landscapes.” He didn’t care if it hurt her feelings. For Christ’s sake, he’d just made a huge decision. What more did they want from him?

  “Oh, but, but… ” Barbara wiped the corner of her eye. “But, Todd, Trista wouldn’t want you to do this.”

  Todd set his knife and fork down carefully beside his plate. He had to do it very slowly, almost jerkily, because he might just break the damned dish. “This has nothing to do with Trista. It’s about me and living the rest of my life.”

  He glanced at Jolie. He’d survived her saying it, but once was all he could manage. Although, it didn’t slice him in two as it had last night.

  He cleared his throat. Maybe he was making progress.

  Then he got a good look at Jolie’s face and had to wonder if she’d survive the rest of this meal.

  “Jolie, I’m sorry you have to be a part of this. I hadn’t expected to go down this road tonight. I shouldn’t have mentioned clearing out the attic.” He turned toward Barbara. “Let’s not go into it any more. I’d like to have a nice dinner and then head home.”

  “Todd—” Mike began but Todd cut him off.

  “Let’s leave it at that, Mike. I can always change my mind, you know.”

  That stopped Mike. Barb grabbed her wine and Jolie stared into her salad.

  Great. Good job, Best. Way to set the mood.

  Well, it couldn’t be helped. Yes, they’d been managing his life for the past two years and he appreciated it, he really did, but it was over. As for showing again, Mike could plead all he wanted, but Todd was not going to go through that circus.

  He was emptying the attic to start over. To start fresh.

  ***

  Jolie picked at her salad, wanting to fade into the woodwork, hoping someone would shatter the tension in the room before Mouth said something inappropriate; silence making her edgy and all.

  “My apartment burned down so Todd let me move in.” Oops. Too late. Open Mouth, insert kicky yellow flat. If she still had kicky yellow flat. Unfortunately, she’d lost that in the fire—along with, apparently, her common sense.

  “Well, there’s a subject change.” Todd had his smile back, so apparently inappropriate comments had their purpose.

  Why it had to be her inappropriate comment, though, God only knew.

  “You’re living with Todd?” Mike’s fork stopped mid-air and he drilled Todd with his stare.

  “I think I’ll get the rest of the meal.” Barbara’s mouth scrunched to the side as she went back into the kitchen.

  “Wipe the Puritanical look off your face, Mike.” Todd resumed eating his salad. “Her apartment burned down last night after dinner. I wasn’t about to leave her stranded. I may have been out of touch with people over the past two years, but simple courtesy isn’t a social grace you forget.”

  So now she was a social grace? First cute, now that.

  “Burned down? That’s awful.” Barbara reappeared, all composed, smiling and Barbie once more. “It’s lucky you were with Todd.”

  “It’s very nice of him to let me stay until I can find another place. I’ve started looking but there aren’t many places available this week.” In her price range and with something other than a pitbull with a choke collar for security.

  “There’s a lovely apartment complex over on Windy Ayre,” Barbara said, placing a tray of lasagna on the table.

  Jolie knew the complex she was talking about. Talk about the picket fence/red geranium window box image. And with image came hefty rental fees.

  “I’d probably have to talk to my agency about adjusting my rates for that place.” Darn, she had the most annoying habit of spouting information that really needn’t be spouted at all. And the agency—and Todd, or Mike, or whoever—paid her just fine, but those college courses weren’t cheap and she refused to hand over more of her hard-earned cash than necessary for someone else’s tax deduction. She was going to get her own house sooner rather than later if she could help it. After the pastry shop, of course.

  “Which agency is that?” Mike asked. He must have had a few on-call to help with the help if he couldn’t remember the one he’d just hired her from.

  “Domestic Gods & Goddesses? The office is on First Avenue by the river,” Jolie answered.

  “I don’t believe I’m familiar with that one,” Barbara said, dishing out some awesome-looking lasagna.

  “It’s the home of omelet makers extraordinaire. Right, Jolie?” Todd smiled at her, which, of course, garnered him a smile in return.

  “Domestic Gods & Goddesses?” Barbara turned to Mike. “We should give them a call, honey. We could use someone to make extraordinary omelets, too.”

  “Sure, Barb, go ahead. But no one’s ever going to be able to make a better breakfast for me than you.”

  Barbara turned pink and lowered her eyes, but her smile was as wide as the arch on the doorway.

  Okay, welcome to a whole new realm of innuendo. Or was it just flat out flirting? And was it still called flirting when it was one’s spouse?

  Jolie tried not to stare at the two of them, but the air in the room was suddenly super-charged with an energy she’d become all-too familiar with over the last thirty-six hours.

  And she was feeling rather envious.

  Todd shifted in his seat and suddenly decided to dig for buried treasure in his lasagna.

  Which was a pretty good trick. She did the same while Barbara turned an even pinker shade of pink.
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  “Or maybe I won’t call them,” she said in a breathy little rush.

  Well, duh, the guy was all but shouting he wanted to devour her and they were going to need privacy for that. The last thing these two should want was a third party around the house.

  “So,” Barbara continued, dabbing at her mouth. “Your apartment, Jolie. I have a friend in real estate I can call if you’d like. I’m sure she’ll be able to find you something.”

  “That’s—”

  “Unnecessary,” Todd cut in and they all spun their heads to him as if it were his serve at Wimbledon.

  “Oh?” Mike quirked an eyebrow.

  “Jolie can stay as long as she likes. Why should she have to pay rent when I’ve got four perfectly good empty bedrooms in my house?”

  He smiled her way and her insides melted. Just simply melted and turned to mush and got all warm and fuzzy, completely laying waste to her composure. Good Lord, the man had a killer smile.

  And she wasn’t the only one struck dumb by his offer. Mike and Barbie’s mouths were hanging open which was pretty hilarious.

  Or would have been if she hadn’t suddenly realized they were stunned because he’d invited her to stay. Her. One homeless, family-less, degree-less domestic goddess.

  A charity case on two legs with a battered Bug in tow.

  Oh no. Even though she had a plan and her life was on the upswing, recent fire disaster notwithstanding, she was not a charity case. Tough if she didn’t fit with their pre-conceived notions of who should share Todd’s home.

  But he’d asked and it was his home and why shouldn’t she stay? As long as it wasn’t charity, everything was fine.

  But for something not to be charity, payment would have to be involved.

  Payment…

  They didn’t think—

  She wasn’t—

  They weren’t—

  Oh.

  Somehow she’d make it through the rest of the dinner. And find some way to pay Todd for her room.

  But not in the way Barbara’s mind had obviously gone.

  ***

  Oh, dear. Jonathan Griff jumped from his chair and paced the worn floorboards, still keeping an eye on his television screen. One eye. The other one was twitching so much he had to close it or he’d have tears streaming down his cheek. That hadn’t gone as well as he’d hoped.

  It’d been a great idea of Todd’s to take Jolie to dinner to meet his family. Jonathan was so proud of him. Compassionate, that’s what the man was. Exactly why he deserved some happiness.

  But Michael and Barbara’s disbelief could not be tolerated. There were to be no doubts in either Todd’s or Jolie’s mind. This relationship had to be easy for them, no impediments whatsoever. No family meddling, no more fires, no other people… nothing.

  That was his job.

  And with that hurt look on Jolie’s face, he’d better get to work on Raphael’s suggestion of steering the course of true love straight again.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Morning had broken and Cat Stevens was running rampant in Jolie’s head to the accompaniment of a bluebird’s warbling outside her window. Or what was soon-to-be her window once she and Todd had a little discussion.

  Apron at the ready, she traipsed down to the kitchen to earn her keep. Well, earn her paycheck. For her keep, she had other ideas.

  And not the ones Barbara had had. She was not that kind of girl. And even if she’d misconstrued Barbara’s reaction, there were proprieties to be met, after all.

  From the pocket of her yellow-and-blue striped Bermuda shorts, she un-tucked the check for a month’s rent. Just like she would for Mr. Murphy, her previous landlord, she was going to pay Todd, no matter what he’d offered.

  She placed the check front and center at his place at the table, then set to work whipping up some crêpes with fresh fruit from Arena’s. Strawberry crêpes drizzled with orange juice were the perfect summery breakfast when one wished to discuss matters of a financial nature.

  The French door to the patio opened, admitting a wet-haired, muscle-glistening man in swim trunks that were plastered to his hips.

  “Hey,” said the water god, “you’re up. Sleep well?”

  She had to pull the tongue off the roof of her mouth. Chipper and gorgeous. And half-dressed. What a difference a day made.

  “Um, yes, slept very well, thank you. You?” She turned back to the stove ’cause the crêpes were going to start burning.

  They could get in line behind her hormones.

  The chair scraped along the tiled floor. Whoa daddy. They were having breakfast in the near-buff. She was going to have to clarify exactly what constituted proper morning attire or he’d have to settle for burned meals if he kept showing up half-dressed. Or undressed. Whatever.

  “What’s this?” asked Semi-Naked Guy.

  “Rent.” She didn’t have to turn around to know what he was holding.

  Or, rather, what he was shredding.

  “Jolie, I told you, you’re welcome to stay here. You don’t have to pay me.”

  “But I’d pay my landlord and, for now, that’s you.”

  “I don’t need the money.”

  She spun around, her backside resting against the edge of the countertop. “I, however, do need to keep my self-respect. I can’t just take from you without giving something back.”

  Oh, I know what you could give—

  Shut up, Naughty Girl.

  Todd’s green-eyed gaze searched her face like pirates searched a treasure map. “Okay. You want to give back?”

  She nodded, all the while shoving Naughty Girl out of her head.

  “Fine. But instead of money, I want something else.”

  Here we go. Naughty Girl wrung her hands in glee.

  “Cookies.”

  Jolie did a double-take. “Um, what?”

  Say what?

  “Cookies. Chocolate chip, to be precise.”

  Jolie did the finger-in-the-ear thing. “I’m sorry. I thought you said ‘cookies.’”

  “I did. Chocolate chips.” The corners of his mouth headed northward and the sun chose that moment to dip into the room and find his eyes.

  “May I, um, ask why?”

  “The Best Enterprises Foundation sponsors events for kids in crisis and I know those kids would love to have homemade chocolate chip cookies.”

  It was all she could do not to throw herself all over him and rain kisses on every inch of his tanned skin. Well, for more reasons than one, but—oh! Where had he been when she’d been in the system?

  “So… is that okay with you?”

  She nodded. Like a crazy woman. If she even thought about trying to open her mouth to thank him, he’d think she was a crazy woman because she was trying really hard not to burst into Hoover Dam-like tears.

  Even Naughty Girl shut up, and Jolie thought she caught a sniffle or two from her.

  “Okay then. That’s settled.” He dumped the shredded check into the trashcan, then sidled close enough to peer over her shoulder. “Are those crêpes?”

  Chlorine and essence du Todd tickled her nose and the little fine hairs on the back of her neck started doing the “Todd Lambada” dance, which had the added benefit of heating her from the inside out so her tears sizzled out of existence.

  “Yep. One of my specialties.” She turned around and, smart boy, he scooted out of her way. Trying to regain whatever composure she had left, she spooned some of the fruit into the center, rolled the crêpe and drizzled more of the strawberry/orange juice over it. She handed him the plate and he took a seat.

  “How about whipped cream with this?” he asked.

  Whipped cream. She stifled a groan as she opened the fridge and grabbed one oh-so-innocent-looking white container. Somehow she was going to have to spoon the little pre-fabbed temptation over his crêpe, but, by God, her imagination went steaming into overdrive and Naughty Girl came back to life with a vengeance.

  Images of spooning it over him flashed in her bra
in, followed shortly thereafter by images of licking it off.

  She grabbed a theoretical stranglehold on Naughty Girl’s throat and told her to knock it off. That is not a good idea.

  Though, that tanned shoulder would look supremely scrumptious slathered in white, fluffy—

  “Jolie?”

  Face flaming, she tossed him the container. She was not going near the guy.

  Chicken.

  “Nice catch,” she mumbled in an effort to appear somewhat normal and not like an incredibly grateful, overly-horny, under-sexed, sorry excuse for an employee.

  “Are you joining me?” asked Mr. I-have-no-idea-my-chef-is-a-quivering-mass-of-hormones.

  “Uh, okay. Let me flip this and I’ll be right over.” And she’d sit at the far end of the table.

  “So what do you have planned today?” asked Mr. Chipper. “I’m going to be pretty occupied in the attic, so, if you don’t mind, you can just leave me a sandwich. I’ll grab it when I take a break.”

  Dab, dab with the fruit, roll, roll with the crêpe, and she was ready to brave breakfast with Brawny. Darn if the guy didn’t pull out the chair next to him.

  So much for avoidance tactics.

  “If you’re sure… I do have some pages to write—I mean, some notes to organize.” Oops.

  “Pages? What are you writing? A cookbook?” His tongue gathered the whipped cream from the corner of his mouth.

  Mind back on the task at hand, Jols. Which would be pulling her sandaled foot out of her mouth. Pages to write. Sheesh.

  “Yes. I’m working on a book. For the pastry shop I want to open.” Sure, she could throw some recipes in her manuscript. She’d seen people do that, where they began a chapter with a family recipe. She wasn’t quite sure how she’d work it into the story, but if she did, she wouldn’t be lying.

  “Be sure to include these crêpes. They’re great.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Are there any more?”

  “In the warming drawer.”

  He walked to the drawer, bent over to open it, and, man! What a view. His back was muscle-slick, a slight rise on either side of his spine, flaring in at his waist. His butt tightened, his thighs tightened, his calves tightened, and a few body parts of her own did some tightening—which sent one riotous bundle of flames from her heart, through several key points nearby—literally—down through her belly to dance along one very tingly area between her legs.