Her gaze riveted to the television, Clara assured herself that she wouldn’t be affected by watching him, and that she’d view the interview only for a second and then return to the kitchen to finish the scones.
The harsh studio lights brought out the reddish tinge in Danny’s brown hair. He was so handsome, looking into the camera with his china-blue eyes, suited in a navy sport coat and white button-down shirt. The newscaster gushed throughout the interview, and Clara didn’t miss how she lightly touched Danny’s sleeve. When the interview ended, Clara felt her insides die a little beneath an anguished pang of jealousy. Her hands were cold, her legs were trembling.
Women had always made themselves readily available to him.
Fifteen minutes later, with tears streaming down her cheeks, Clara clicked off the television and crossed to her bedroom. She placed the bottle on her bureau and cried out her sorrow in her pillow—for the half-empty bottle of vodka, for the dance studio’s closing, for her lonesome life without Danny.
An hour later, she was still huddled in a cocoon on her bed when an insistent rap on her flat’s door forced her to answer. The postman stood at the entry and handed her a thickly padded sealed envelope. She brought the envelope into the kitchen, unsealed it and pulled out official-looking papers. A check for thirty thousand euros was clipped to the top of the documents.
Thirty thousand euros.
Clara dropped the check on the table. She’d never seen such a large sum. Her hands shook as she read the documents, punctuated by legal terms she scarcely understood. “In consideration of the Buyer,” and “Bill of Sale,” and “The Seller.” At first, she assumed the packet pertained to Seamus’s sports car and that she’d mistakenly opened a post intended for him.
And then she realized that the check was signed by Danny Brady.
Her fingers shook as she spread out the neatly folded note, stamped at the top with The Ground Café’s logo. In Danny’s bold scroll, he’d written: “Per our agreement, this check is for your lemon scone recipe, and to assist Seamus in repaying his gambling debts. It is my hope that you enjoyed our time together as much as I did.”
She squeezed her eyes closed.
“I’d consider buying your recipe. How does a flat fee of ten thousand euros sound?” Danny had asked.
“Twenty thousand is fairer.”
Her eyes snapped open.
Her pride insisted that she tear up his check and toss it into the fireplace to burn. He had shattered her to the core, taken away her self-esteem and proven that he didn’t trust her.
Her heart, however, whispered otherwise.
An image of Danny’s tormented face when he’d apologized for his accusation rushed into her thoughts: Luv, please don’t cry. I never meant to hurt you. I’m not thinking straight. I’ll make it up to you.
He was good-hearted, so generous to her and her family. And Colum said Danny loved her, and that nothing could be resolved if she and Danny never spoke.
Colum was right. She’d never been so unhappy. She was living in a suspended state, flanked by memories of her joyous past days with Danny and a desolate future without him.
Anxious and indecisive, she rubbed her neck, took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Perhaps they could begin where they’d left off, before the terrible accusations and bitter argument.
She envisioned Danny’s face, and a deep longing swelled in her heart. He was so splendid, and she missed him so much. Perhaps she should call him, thank him for his generosity. She’d begin by telling she forgave him. Everyone made mistakes and he had apologized.
She reached for her cell phone. Smiling, she envisioned the broad grin spreading across his face when he answered and heard her voice.
But what would she say?
She took a quick breath, a fluttery feeling in her stomach. She stared at the phone, her mind groping frantically for reasons why she shouldn’t call him. He would be busy, he wouldn’t have time to listen to her. He probably was angry because she hadn’t picked up his calls. Or worse, he’d act cool and indifferent. Furthermore, there was a time difference and it was an hour later in Spain. He might have retired early for the night.
She set the phone down.
The next time he rang her, she would answer his call, thank him, and thus, salvage her self-esteem.
She stared at the check. With these funds, she could keep the studio open. And she would be able to do what she loved best—teach dance, while creating a lively and diverse cultural centre in Farthing. She could connect with other arts groups and civic leaders, as well as philanthropists like Danny. Together, they could entice families to stay in her hometown rather than relocate to bigger cities.
She could advertise, design a fresh, new look for the studio. To help prevent injuries, she’d install a floating floor for the dancers. She’d paint the studio walls in gentle, inspiring hues—light beige, muted blues and gold. The lobby could incorporate fun, bright colors—teals and shocking pinks. Most important, Colum could continue to teach dance. He wouldn’t need to scramble for another job.
She flew to the sink, filled a kettle with water for tea and set it on the stove to boil. Her mind busied with plans because there was so much to tell Danny. And he could offer insight regarding Seamus’s behavior. Her pride might suffer considering her refusals of his advice, yet she wanted to discuss the matter with him.
Her spirits lifted. She could lean on Danny’s broad shoulders. After all, relationships were a give and take partnership.
She beamed, picturing their joyful reunion. In person, she would finally tell him what was in her heart. Her handsome, bold, sophisticated man.
Her Danny Boy.
Chapter Twenty
Danny attempted to tune out the talkative businessman sitting next to him in first class by staring down at the international permits on his lap, all the while pondering why he hadn’t chartered a private plane. They were headed for Rome, Italy, although the plane been delayed several hours in the Spanish airport. Consequently, he was several hours behind schedule.
In three days, he’d be in America. His coffee franchises were scheduled to open on the east coast in New York City, Atlanta, Miami, Charlotte, and Boston.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. The Spanish coffee shop, located near Malaga in southern Spain, had experienced unexpected complications. Furthermore, although his expert staff had reinstated his computer accounts, the continual phone calls and meetings had been a cyber nightmare.
He tipped his head against the seat and tried to rest. He couldn’t seem to keep his mind on his work. Every time he closed his eyes, the image of Clara’s stricken face when he’d accused her of stealing tore at him. When would he be able to arrange his thoughts back into a semblance of working order?
When she finally decided to answer her damn phone, that’s when. He needed to talk to her.
“Beautiful scenery.”
Danny opened his eyes.
The businessman’s gaze was roving appreciatively over Kathleen’s voluptuous curves. She sat across the aisle, attractively dressed in a clingy jersey knit top and short skirt. She met the man’s gaze with a teasing grin before crossing her legs and returning to the magazine on her lap.
With a lingering, leering chuckle, the businessman looked back to the window. “We’re flying over the three Egadi Islands.”
“Aye, I’ve heard of them,” Danny said.
Do you remember the name of the town?
No, although my Irish Mom said the town was close to the Egadi Islands.
He stared out the window, watching the loops of clouds swirling in the sky, evolving from white to grey. He yearned to have the swirls block out the ever-present sting of memories and resultant pain in his gut.
To distract himself he turned to chat with Kathleen, asking if she’d heard anything recently from her Italian boyfriend.
She shook her heard. “Not since yesterday. I hope his villa is actually as nice as the internet photos he texted.”
She’d flown from Dublin to Spain to meet with him to help with the opening of the Spanish coffee shop. She’d help with the launch of the Rome coffee shop as well, and then stay to oversee it after Danny departed. The Italian coffee market was highly competitive, and Kathleen was ever competent in dealing with distributors. Besides, her new Italian boyfriend lived there. Or at least, she assumed he did.
“Hopefully, you’re not in for a surprise—with either the boyfriend or his villa,” Danny said. “Internet relationships can be tricky, and people are sometimes not who they portray themselves to be through texts and photos.”
“How close is your hotel to the coffee shop, just in case?” Her low laugh had a slight catch.
She was too accessible, Danny thought, too willing to please men—any man. And her eyes weren’t a deep, warm brown.
He glanced at his watch. The plane was scheduled to land in forty-five minutes. As soon as he reached his hotel, he’d ring Clara. If she didn’t answer, he’d leave a message this time, then continue ringing until she picked up. Persistence. It had worked well in business, it would work well with—
He didn’t complete the thought.
Hoping it would soothe him during his whirlwind journey, he’d brought his acoustic guitar with him. So far, he hadn’t had the opportunity to strum a note, neither in France nor Spain. Perhaps in Italy, on a warm, balmy night, he’d sit on his hotel balcony and finish his song for Clara.
“I’m American,” the businessman said. “And I own a home in Italy and speak fluent Italian.”
Danny nodded absently. “Bravo.”
“You?”
“Irish. I own a home in Ireland and speak fluent English and a wee bit of Gaelic.”
“Gaelic is a difficult language.”
“Aye.”
The businessman pressed closer to the window. “Looks like a storm brewing.”
Danny resumed his appraisal of the permits.
A bump. An unexpected jostle. No warning.
The businessman lifted the plane’s shade higher. “Turbulence from the winds,” he observed knowingly. “I’m a seasoned world traveler.”
“Good to know,” Danny replied, thinking he would have been better off saying nothing, because the businessman would probably start talking again.
The plane shuddered and dropped altitude. The pilot came on the loudspeaker and advised passengers to fasten their seat belts because they were making an unexpected, forced landing at a small airfield near Cosenza, Italy.
“Not an emergency.” The flight attendants reassured passengers, scurrying down the aisle as the plane continued to dip. “Only a precaution. Brace, brace, brace.”
Danny felt woozy, his brain drifting.
The plane tilted and oxygen masks were deployed.
The last thing he remembered was smelling smoke, followed by a loud bang.
Chapter Twenty-One
Clara stood on the stoop of the dance studio with Colum. The two of them had just spent the day painting the interior of the studio.
She pulled in a deep breath and pointed to her new sign, large pink letters against a white backdrop. “Hang the sign a little more to the left,” she instructed Colum’s nephew.
“Miss Clara’s School of Dance.” Colum gazed at the sign and smiled broadly. “Congratulations. You’ve saved the arts in our little town. Not to mention my job.”
“And my thanks to your nephew for designing the sign so quickly. He’s very artistic. We should consider offering art classes in the future.” She couldn’t help an entrepreneurial smile. “Remember, this is all because of a lemon scone recipe.”
“A fair exchange. I’m sure Mr. Brady was delighted when you told him about your business venture.”
Clara shoved her hands into the pockets of her new, caramel-colored jacket and released a ragged sigh. “I haven’t heard from him since his check arrived. Maybe he sent me the money to assuage his guilt for his accusations. Now his conscience is clear because he’s paid for his recipe and is well rid of me.”
“I like him,” Colum replied, giving her a hard, quick embrace. “However, I like you more. And I don’t like the idea that he’s hurting you, whether intentional or not.”
As she brushed away a tear, her cell phone buzzed. She’d become an expert in the art of weeping, she thought sheepishly. Ever hopeful, she glanced at the caller ID before answering the call. She sighed again and then said, “Hi, Anna.”
“Don’t sound so thrilled to hear from me.”
“Sorry. I’m at the dance studio with Colum.”
“You’ve been very mysterious the past few days.”
“I’m working on a surprise.” Clara glanced at the sign. “You’ll see it tomorrow.”
“I have a surprise too. Can you stop by the coffee shop? I’m finishing my shift and I want to show off … the baked goods display. Your lemon scones are selling well.”
The thought of entering the coffee shop, especially since her last encounter with Danny, caused Clara to falter. “I’ve seen my lemon scones before and they’re not a surprise,” she evaded.
“This is important to me.”
Apparently eavesdropping, Colum mouthed, “Go ahead. We’re done here.”
“I’ll head over now, Anna.” Clara nodded and bid Colum a silent farewell. With her cell phone pressed firmly to her ear, she headed toward the coffee shop.
“The lobby is near empty.” Anna continued their conversation while Clara walked. “Ian is in Dublin and Kathleen flew to Italy.”
“Kathleen flew to Italy?” Clara parroted. She stopped, swaying in place as the realization hit her. Danny was in Italy with Kathleen, which was why he no longer bothered to ring. He’d lost interest, pure and simple.
She shook her head. She should’ve called him but she’d gotten cold feet. And she’d wanted to salvage her wounded pride, plus give them both a cooling-off period before they spoke. In the meantime, he’d moved on, resuming his affair with the sultry and dazzling Kathleen.
Clara frowned at the wetness burning the back of her eyes. Now she knew exactly what being in Danny’s arms meant—and Kathleen might be enjoying his breathtaking kisses and warm, teasing smile.
Her shoulders shook with soundless sobs as Anna clicked off.
The coffee shop hadn’t changed, Clara mused, when she pushed open the door ten minutes later. The aroma of dark, rich coffee beans surrounded her. An Irish fiddle and harmonica were the featured instruments on the Irish music piped in the background.
She rode the escalator to the second floor and spotted Anna behind the display counter. As usual, Anna oozed attractiveness. Her name was pinned to her starched white blouse, the dazzling white in sharp contrast to her tanned skin. Her black slacks hugged her appealing curves.
“What’s the craic?” Anna asked.
Clara gave a noncommittal shrug. “I don’t have much of a life at the moment.”
Anna’s response was a half smile. “You look wrecked, as if you haven’t slept.”
“I’ve had a difficult week.”
Anna added a look of frustrated annoyance. “You’re not answering Danny’s calls.”
Clara didn’t respond. Anna had obviously been talking with Ian. Or Colum. It seemed like the entire town knew about the argument.
“The coffee of the day is hazelnut. Wanna try some?” Anna busied herself behind the counter.
“Coffee’s too bitter. I’ll have a glass of mint green tea.”
“Our hazelnut coffee is sweet. We add cinnamon and a touch of sugar.”
Clara shoved her hair off her forehead. “No, thanks. I’d like iced tea.”
Anna poured the tea and set the cup on the display case between them. She huffed an overstated sigh. “You’re so bullheaded, you know that? Once you get something in your mind, you don’t listen to reason.”
Clara grabbed the cup, squeezing it with a death grip. “I’m unreasonable because I don’t drink coffee?”
“You’re just … unreasonable.”
“In case you’re confused, Danny was the person with the unreasonable accusations,” Clara reminded with a broken laugh.
“Then you’re merely bullheaded. You’ve been seeing a man who owns a chain of coffee shops and you refuse to try his coffee.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
Anna grinned. “You realize that we’re quarreling about coffee?”
“Coffee, tea. All roads seem to lead to Danny Brady.” Clara attempted to keep the sadness from her voice. “I wish …” That torrent of tears threatened to emerge.
When she couldn’t continue, Anna softly said, “I invited you here to see your lemon scones. Aren’t they brilliantly displayed?” Anna’s fingers, their nails sporting a deep purple polish, fluttered in the air around the display case. A shining diamond ring glittered on the fourth finger of her left hand.
Clara grabbed Anna’s hand. “You’re engaged?”
Anna hooted elatedly. “Ian taped my engagement ring inside my motorcycle helmet. I went to put it on last night and nearly had a cow when I saw the ring. Then he got down on one knee and proposed, right in the middle of a rainy street. My fiancé is a romantic.”
“So you accepted his marriage proposal?”
“Of course! He’s a romantic cupcake.” She sighed. “Today he had to drive to Dublin for business but he should be back later this evening. I haven’t seen him all day and I miss him.”
Clara’s lips trembled with elation for her sister while she blinked back hopeless tears for herself. “Have you told Seamus about your engagement?” she asked.
“I haven’t seen much of Seamus these days.”
“Neither have I.” Clara chewed her bottom lip, undecided if she should tell Anna about the half-empty bottle of vodka she’d found, and that the diamond necklace had gone missing.
Anna’s cell phone buzzed. She fumbled in her pocket for it and read the text. “Ian can’t remember where he left the keys to his flat, and he wants me to check in the boardroom,” she reported, and then tsked. “Danny will personally wring Ian’s neck if Ian lost another set of keys. Come upstairs and help me look for them.”
Oh Danny Boy: A Sweet Contemporary Romance Page 19
