by Janette Rallison, Heather B. Moore, Luisa Perkins, Sarah M. Eden, Annette Lyon, Lisa Mangum
Winona was right. They shouldn’t be touring the city together. But he still hated to disappoint Genevieve.
The morning sun made the city sparkle, and Winona was missing out. As tempted as she was to go take a walk— maybe even find a fabulous bakery— she didn’t want to run into Steve. From the safety of the balcony, she’d seen him leave the building about fifteen minutes after ten.
As he’d reached the end of the block, he’d looked toward her. Of course, it was impossible for him to have seen her. Genevieve had more plants on her balcony than a full-sized atrium; it was practically an exotic jungle in the middle of the never-ending sounds of Manhattan traffic.
Winona had no idea when Steve would return, so it wasn’t a good idea to venture out until she was sure she wouldn’t run into him. Even as the thought crossed her mind, though, she knew she was being ridiculous to be avoiding a man she didn’t even know.
Her phone buzzed, and she groaned when she saw the text message.
Darling, I hope you’re having a wonderful time. My neighbor Steve Monti said he’d show you around the city since I can’t do the honors. Let me know how it goes. Xoxo
Winona shoved away her guilt, but it crept right back in. She decided to let the text sit for a while so she could decide how to best respond. If she pretended that Steve had taken her around, she’d need to get him to agree with the cover-up.
She buried herself in her work, creating an ad campaign for a Napa Valley vineyard. This was a regular client; every six months, she refreshed their advertising strategy. While she browsed the images of vines and fruit that her contact had emailed her, someone knocked on her door.
Startled, Winona checked the time. It was nearly one; she hadn’t looked up from her computer in almost two hours. Standing, she stretched, then walked to the door. When she saw Steve on the other side, she let out a sigh.
Really? What does he want now?
Then she reconsidered. Maybe she could reach an agreement with him.
She cracked the door open just as his hand was poised to knock again. His perfectly dark eyebrows lifted when he saw her. “Since I don’t have your number, I have to give you an update in person.”
Winona folded her arms. “About what?” She couldn’t help it; rudeness just came out around him. This guy was like Paul— a two-timer— and the less she was around Steve, the better.
“About what we did today.” Steve took a step closer, smiling again as if there were nothing wrong with him invading her space. As if he didn’t have an angry girlfriend a few floors below. He had to be the cockiest man alive.
“Central Park was perfect,” he continued in that smooth, happy tone. “The day after a rainstorm, all of the flowers come alive, and everything smells earthy and fresh. There was a funny incident, though, when—”
“Wait.” Winona held up her hand. “What are you talking about?”
“You know, our sightseeing excursion that I went on by myself. I’m filling you in so we have the same story to tell your aunt.”
Winona gaped at him. That very thing had been her idea— collaborating on a scheme to keep her aunt happy. She didn’t know whether to be impressed or annoyed.
“I figure if we have our stories straight, your aunt will think I’m keeping my promise.” He winked. “What do you think?”
She couldn’t deny the appeal of the plan. “Sounds great to me. I’ve got a ton to do, so even a couple of hours away will put me behind.”
“What kind of work do you do?”
Winona let herself relax a touch. If Steve was willing to let her off the hook about touring the city, she could at least have a decent conversation with him. “I do graphic design for an advertising firm.”
“So you’re one of those artists who turned to graphic design?”
Winona’s face heated up. “Pretty much. Isn’t that the fate of all art majors? Paint for fun, but get a real job to pay the rent? I mean…” She looked down at her gray t-shirt and navy lounge pants. “I’m far from the artsy type anyway, and I never fit in my college classes. As you can see, I have no sense of style, something that’s pretty much a prerequisite in the art world.”
Her face warmed even more as Steve’s gaze followed the length of her body. “You were put together well when you arrived.” His eyes widened as if he’d realized what he’d implied. “I mean, not that you don’t look great now.”
Winona smiled. “Please. Don’t even worry about it. I know what I look like.”
“No, you look great,” he rushed to say. “Not many women are comfortable dressing down.” His face pinked. “I— I should shut up now.”
She laughed. “I know what you mean— don’t worry.”
“Really, though,” Steve said. “Tell me about your art.”
Winona exhaled and met his gaze. Was he serious? She hadn’t thought of herself as an artist for a long time, not since getting hired at the firm. Sure, she’d continued to dabble in digital art, but she’d long since put away her oils. “I haven’t done anything serious for years.”
“Did you sculpt? Paint? Watercolor?”
“Oils, but now I mostly photograph and digitally enhance the pictures.” She couldn’t believe she was telling him all of this. She’d told no one. The work she’d loaded onto the digital art sites were all under a pseudonym.
“Do you have a website or something with your portfolio?” he asked.
He couldn’t really be so interested, Winona decided. “I’ve loaded my stuff onto a few sites, but nothing major,” she hedged.
“I guess I need to Google your name to see your stuff.”
“You won’t find anything under my name.”
“Oh?” He was watching her closely.
Winona just smiled. “I’ll let you know if I decide to share it with you.”
He staggered backward as if she’d struck him. “Ouch.” Then he was smiling again. “I’ll get it out of you somehow. Tomorrow, meet me at the same time in the lobby. We’ll go see the big one.”
“What’s that?”
“Lady Liberty, of course.”
Winona’s stomach twisted. Steve was growing on her. This was too much, too fast. She had to put a stop to it. Remember his girlfriend’s accusation. “I really can’t—”
“It’s okay,” he said, cutting her off. “Then I’ll report back. Our stories have to match.” He saluted her. “Later, Miss Grant.”
And then he was walking down the hall, and Winona found herself staring after him.
Steve had just spent thirty minutes talking to Winona at her door, who turned out to be an artist, of all things. Had he flirted with her? He reviewed their conversation in his head. Damn. He had been flirting. Although he wasn’t sure if she’d flirted back. Genevieve had been right about Winona— her ex must have done a number on her. How recent was the breakup? Something was preventing her from relaxing around him, and he was chalking it up to her recent break-up and he decided not to take it personally.
He wished he weren’t so curious about her. He’d promised himself to never date another artist. Steve exhaled. Now he was thinking about dating her? He had to pull his thoughts together and not dwell on her hazel eyes and the sound of her laughter when he’d utterly failed at telling her she was pretty.
He fished his cell from his pocket and mindlessly scrolled through a series of texts as he sat on his balcony in the afternoon sun. Three people had gotten back to him— other gallery owners— but only one with a lead. He pulled up the number of the recommended artist and called her— Jeanmarie Hobby. He’d met her the year before. Her blown glass art had been steadily growing in popularity, but with only a few weeks until his launch, transportation for her pieces from her Boston studio might be hard to arrange.
The phone rang until it went to voicemail, so he left a message. He saved her number in his contacts so he’d know right away when she called back. He doubted that she could bring in the same draw that the previous artist would have, but she was better than having a gap
in his show.
A text came from Genevieve. How has it been going with Winona? Where have you taken her so far?
The woman was persistent to say the least. He was about to reply with made-up details about Central Park when someone knocked at the door. His heart skipped a beat as he went back inside to open it, thinking it might be Winona. Maybe she was warming up to him. When he saw Leisa standing there, he regretted not looking through the peephole. She was fully made up from her bombshell curls to a silky wraparound dress that hugged her ample curves.
“I’m so sorry, Steve,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek. Apparently, she’d completely forgiven him.
He stepped back, trying not to inhale what must be a dozen spritzes of perfume. “I still can’t give you the spot.”
Her full lips curved upward. “You found someone? Wonderful!”
“I haven’t confirmed it yet, but I’m close.”
Her hand slipped into his. “I could still fill in if you need me to.” She blinked her green eyes at him. She had inched closer, moving her body against his. Leisa had a boyfriend, but they had a fairly open relationship, and she wouldn’t think twice about using her body to encourage him to agree with her.
He pulled his hand away and put some distance between them, but then she entered his apartment.
“In another couple of years, I’d love to put you in my gallery,” he said, closing the door after her.
The pouty lips were back, but then she smiled wide. “All right, babe. I can live with that.” She crossed to his kitchen. “I really need a drink. Do you have anything good?”
She knew he didn’t drink— and that he hated it when she brought it up. She pulled open the refrigerator and started browsing as if she lived there. “Water? Really, Steve, you can be so boring sometimes.”
The back of his neck bristled, but he walked to the counter and settled on a barstool. “I may have some sports drinks on the bottom shelf.”
“Even worse,” Leisa pronounced, pulling out a water bottle and twisting the cap off. After taking a long drink, she smiled. “Let’s go clubbing tonight. Jens is out of town.”
Apparently, when the boyfriend was away, Leisa wanted to play. “You know I hate bars.”
“Come on.” Leisa sauntered over and looped her arm around his shoulders. “I’ll keep you safe. I won’t let you touch a drop.”
It was hard enough to watch everyone else with their champagne at gallery events. But being surrounded by it at a bar? “I don’t think so.”
She dragged her fingers across his neck. “How about a quiet night at home with the two of us?” Her lips were dangerously close to his.
Yet he felt nothing. Wanted nothing. Leisa was a beautiful woman who had become a friend, but when she was like this, he wanted nothing to do with her.
He rose to his feet. “I’ve got an appointment at the gallery in a few minutes. You’re welcome to help yourself to anything here, but I won’t be back until late.”
She dropped her arms in defeat. “Fine. I just wanted to relax with a friend. I was up half the night painting— hoping that I’d have someplace to show my new pieces.”
And just like that, they were back to square one.
From her balcony, Winona watched Steve walk down the block. Again he had waited fifteen minutes, and she had again ditched him. This time she’d been tempted to join him. He stopped at the corner and looked up at the balcony; she smiled. He couldn’t see her, but he must have guessed she was watching. It was like they had a secret code between them.
He smiled too.
Winona wanted to laugh. So maybe he wasn’t exactly like Paul. He was still a heartbreaker. She could easily see women falling at Steve’s feet, with the end result, of course, being disastrous. What was his story? What was his job? Had he lived in New York his whole life? She watched him cross the street, then hail a taxi.
Was he really going to the Statue of Liberty alone? He’d probably visited her a dozen times. Or was it the sort of thing that New Yorkers didn’t do—instead, leaving the excursion to the tourists?
She wasn’t really counting the hours or watching the time, but by the time he knocked on her door at three that afternoon, she’d imagined that he’d gotten hit by a taxi or had fallen down one of those open sewer holes she’d seen in movies.
After Winona hurried to the door and flung it open, she remembered—too late—that she probably shouldn’t being acting so enthusiastic.
Steve grinned. “Waiting for me?”
“I—uh...”
He laughed. “It was great. The weather perfect—maybe a little too warm, but that makes the hot dogs taste better. Ellis Island was crowded with summer tourists. You know how they are.”
Winona smiled and leaned against the doorframe, as he told her about how he rescued a little girl’s cotton candy before it could blow away in the wind. “It had a few specks of dirt in it when I handed it back, but that didn’t bother her much.”
She laughed. “Sugar is sugar.”
“Right,” he said, his eyes warm. “So how’d your day go?”
“Not as exciting as yours.” Winona wanted to invite him in, but something held her back.
“I see you’re actually dressed.”
She looked down at her jeans and blouse. “I was expecting company.”
“Oh? Who?” Steve asked. “Sorry. It’s really none of my business.”
Winona lifted a brow and said in a teasing tone, “You, of course. You think I’d ditch you day after day then have a secret alliance in my apartment? No, you’re my only expected company, and I’m just a regular, boring workaholic. Something I’m sure my aunt informed you about.”
“She did, actually,” Steve said. “She has a lot more faith in me than I do. Yet she apparently thinks I can get you out of the apartment.”
“Maybe you still can.”
His eyes lit up, so Winona quickly backtracked. “I almost came today, but I had to redo a campaign, and then another job came in that will keep me busy for the rest of the week.”
“Almost is good,” he said.
“What about you?” Winona cut in. “Where do you find the time to take around a phantom tourist? Are you between jobs?” She sincerely hoped he wasn’t about to confess that he had no job.
“I’m trying to salvage my gallery opening. So my current job is to make sure that what I’ve already set up doesn’t fall apart. And that amounts to a lot of sitting around and stressing.”
“Gallery? As in an art gallery?”
“Yeah. I’ve spent months putting it all together, from leasing the space to lining up the artists.” He ran a hand through his hair, his gaze somber, and it was the first time Winona had seen him look anything but upbeat.
He wasn’t an unemployed waif. She felt a bit guilty as relief shot through her. Not that she had anything against a man between jobs, but Paul had taken that lifestyle to the extreme. “You are seriously off the hook, Steve Monti. Don’t even think about scheduling another minute with me.”
“I’ll admit, the request from your aunt put a bit of pressure on me at first, but…” He paused. “It’s actually helping me get away from the stress for a couple of hours a day. Besides, I’d do anything for Genevieve.” He was staring at her, and she couldn’t look away.
In the depth of his eyes, she caught a glimpse of how much he cared for her aunt. It was sweet. “My aunt is way too fussy about me. I’ll be fine. Please, don’t go out of your way for me.”
He leaned in, and instinct made her want to move back, but she didn’t. She could smell his skin— like sunshine and faint cologne.
“I think she’s watching out for both of us,” he said in a quiet voice. “You may as well know that I’m a recovering alcoholic. Stress over the gallery opening makes it crazy hard to keep my thoughts focused. Touring the city the past two days has helped a lot. So, really, I owe your aunt.”
“I— I guess that’s good, then,” Winona said, feeling comp
letely lame that she couldn’t come up with something better to say.
“Don’t worry; I’ve been clean six years.”
Steve’s smile returned, and Winona found herself very relieved at that.
“So, about tomorrow…” he continued. “We’re going on a ferry ride.”
“We are, are we?”
“Ten o’clock.” He winked and took a step backward. “Hope to see you, but if not, I’ll be back to report on what a great time we had.”
The following morning, Winona rushed out of her apartment. It was eleven minutes past ten; she’d overslept, which was a miracle in and of itself. But she didn’t have time to dwell on that. She had to get down to the lobby before she could talk herself out of going to meet Steve.
She dashed down the stairs, not wanting to wait for the notoriously slow elevator. After bursting into the lobby, she stopped. Steve was just heading out the door, and her commotion made him turn around.
“Well, well,” he said.
Winona flushed, but she put a smile on her face, and she kept walking toward Steve. She tried not to notice how his gaze seemed to be assessing her, as if he was trying to determine if her smile was genuine.
“Don’t worry,” she said as she reached him. “I’m here of my own free will.”
“Your aunt didn’t threaten you?” He slid his hands into his pockets, watching her.
“No. She’ll think this is excursion number three.”
“Then we’d better make the most of it,” Steve said with a laugh.
That laugh did something funny to Winona’s breathing.
He pushed through the door and held it for her.
Winona walked past him and stepped outside. The sun was partially hidden behind a cloud; otherwise it was going to be a warm day. As they walked to a waiting taxi, the scent of exhaust and spicy cooking assailed her.
They climbed in the back seat and the taxi jolted forward, pulling into traffic.
During the ride, Steve glanced over at her a few times, smiling.
