Tears crowded in Cinnamon’s eyes. She blinked them away. She’d done the right thing. Even though she felt as if her heart had been surgically removed. She’d done the right thing.
Stepping back, Cinnamon pulled the door closed.
And wept.
The kitchen cabinets gleamed. The counters and floor shone brightly and were clean enough to eat off of. Every room in the house had been dusted and cleaned to the point of sanitization. For the past week, Cinnamon had done little else. Both inside and outside had received her attention.
She had another month before she officially started work. But she didn’t have enough to do to fill the days or the nights until she started. She was going crazy. Even the contest joke didn’t amuse her anymore.
Cinnamon put the cleanser and brushes away. It was barely ten o’clock in the morning. They were still serving breakfast at Velma’s. She hadn’t been there in a while and she could use a good meal. Not that she was hungry, but it was a place to meet and talk to other people.
Showering and dressing quickly, Cinnamon donned a white short set, a blouse with an eyelet ruffle along the hem and shorts that also carried the eyelet hem. The one thing she did not put on were the rings that had gotten her into so much trouble. They were safely in her safety deposit box. She’d put them there the morning after Mac left.
And there they would stay. Irrationally she blamed the rings for getting her into this predicament. Since Connie wouldn’t let her return them, they could do no damage in the box as they had done when she wore them.
The weather was warm and sunny and the outfit made her feel happy. She walked from her house toward Velma’s. She wondered what Mac had told his friends about their engagement. Had he already told them it was broken? Technically, it was broken. It hadn’t existed in the first place, but Cinnamon, again making logic irrational, felt as if they had somehow broken an engagement.
Pushing those thoughts aside, she entered Velma’s with a ready smile. It died the moment her eyes connected with Mac’s. He was sitting in the middle of the room with Allison and Paul. Allison saw her and waved her over.
“This was a mistake,” she muttered to herself. Cinnamon looked around, hoping she could encroach upon someone else, but as usual, Velma’s was packed. Fletcher sat with Amanda Sweeney at a table for two. Allison, Paul, and Mac sat at a table for four. There was one empty chair.
“It had to happen sometime,” Cinnamon again muttered to herself. She wasn’t going to be able to live in Indian Falls and not run into him. She may as well go through the test now.
Reluctantly, she threaded through the tables and walked directly up to Mac.
“Join us,” Allison said.
“Yes,” Paul agreed with her.
Mac stared at her. “We’ve just ordered, so you’re in luck,” he said. Apparently, he was testing her, too.
Cinnamon took a seat. Instantly a waitress appeared and took her order.
“I’ve been meaning to come by,” Allison said, when the young woman left them. “But things have been a little hectic at our house.”
Sheepishly she looked at Paul. He had ruddy-colored skin and it went a shade darker at her comment.
“Mac, I see you’re back in town. I thought you left last weekend.” Cinnamon’s voice sounded formal and strained to her ears.
“I needed some things that were stored at Allison’s. I’m officially moving to Washington.”
The news hit Cinnamon like a lead bullet. She’d run him out of town. His association with her had caused him to uproot himself and move away from the town he loved.
“It’s because of our marriage,” Allison said with a smile. “Mac thinks we need the house alone.”
“He’s right,” Cinnamon agreed, knowing Allison was giving her an excuse. Cinnamon looked at Mac. His eyes were dark daggers.
The food arrived and for a moment everyone was quiet. Cinnamon didn’t know how she could swallow with the lump in her throat. She drank some of her coffee to dislodge it.
“How was your trip?” Cinnamon asked. “I never got the chance to ask that night at your house.” It was an opening, Cinnamon thought, a safe conversation, something to fill the airwaves while Cinnamon sat there with Mac so near. Allison chatted happily while they ate. Paul joined in occasionally, but Mac said nothing. It got her through the meal. When the waitress refilled their coffee cups, Allison and Paul refused another cup.
“We hate to eat and run, but we have an appointment at the photographer. Our photos are ready and I can hardly wait to see them,” Allison said.
“Well—” Cinnamon began.
“No.” Allison stopped her. “Stay and enjoy your coffee.”
Cinnamon watched in dread as her chaperones left them. She and Mac were in a room packed with people, but they were alone.
“Mac,” she began as soon as Paul wheeled Allison through the door. “I want to apologize for last week. I know this started out as a joke, and you warned me more than once that it could go too far. I’m sorry. I never should have gotten you involved.”
His features relaxed. He reached for his cup. “So are we back to being friends?”
Friendship was the last thing she wanted from him, but she nodded.
“Are you really moving up to Washington?”
“I can’t stay with Allison and Paul and I have no room at Zahara’s. It’s better if I settle myself. I like Washington and, as you said, my house is a great place to live, not just work.”
Cinnamon didn’t like her words coming back to haunt her. She was going to miss Mac. She missed having him in the house, missed spending time with him. When he came to visit Allison, it was likely she wouldn’t even know, unless she happened to run across him like she had this morning.
The place started to clear out and Cinnamon thought she should end the conversation and leave, too, but she was reluctant to do so. She wanted to be around Mac.
“Cinnamon, we saw the paper. Who is the guy?” Fletcher asked from a nearby table where he and Amanda were sitting.
“He’s no one you know,” she said.
“You know, he looks a lot like Mac,” the young waitress said. She looked at a newspaper on Fletcher’s table as she poured him more coffee. “The eyes are the same and those dimples.”
Cinnamon felt as if the joke was going to haunt her for the rest of her life. She glanced at Mac. His face was straight, but his eyes were dancing.
“The joke is over,” Cinnamon said. “There is no man in my life.”
Fletcher and Amanda came over. “Then where did the picture come from?”
“It was something that was done as a joke and somehow the papers got it. Can we forget that it was ever in the paper? There must be some other news they can find to fill space.”
“You know what I think?” the waitress asked.
“What?” Amanda asked.
“I think you and Mac should get married.” She gave them a wide smile as she swung her glance between the two of them. “The solution is so simple,” she said. “I can’t believe no one has thought of it before. Then you and Mac can live in the house together.”
Fletcher Caton jumped on the idea. “Great solution,” he said. “Zahara would approve of that. And it will give me a name to put on the invitation in place of Groom: TBA.”
“What’s this?” Connie Anderson walked over. “Who’s the groom?”
“Mac here,” Fletcher said.
“Wait a minute,” Mac interjected. “I have not said I wanted to marry—” He stopped, looking at Cinnamon.
“Well, man, what are you waiting for? Go on and ask her,” Connie prompted.
“Guys,” Cinnamon started. “This isn’t the right place. Mac and I need to talk.”
“Haven’t you talked enough?” Fletcher asked, then turned back to Mac. “Go on, Mac.”
“Cinnamon, I—”
“Mac—”
They both began at the same time.
“Do you want to marry me?” Mac asked.
<
br /> She could feel the tension in the four people hovering over them. She felt Mac was coiling as tightly as a spring. He hadn’t exactly asked the right question. She was sure he didn’t want her to say she did.
“Mac, I didn’t come to Indian Falls looking for a husband.”
“But, it’s all right if you find one,” the waitress said. “Go on, honey, answer his question.”
Cinnamon looked into Mac’s eyes. She was trying to find an answer there, hoping something in the depths of those melting brown eyes would give her a clue. At first she thought she saw fear, but it gave way to something else. It looked like desire, but it could just as well be a signal for her to refuse.
She was confused. She remembered them making love. The way he made her feel when he touched her. The way she’d been so miserable this last week after he’d left. Her ears grew as hot as a sunspot. She wanted to recreate that night of love. She wanted Mac in her life.
“Yes,” she breathed. Suddenly the room was applauding. Cinnamon snapped out of her dream world. She’d said yes, but she wasn’t answering the question, not Mac’s question. She was replying to her own memory of the nights that had changed her life.
She glanced at Mac. His eyes were wide and surprised.
“Mac, I didn’t—”
“Mac, aren’t you going to kiss her?” Fletcher interrupted her. “I swear young folks don’t know how to be young.”
Mac got up and moved to the seat next to her. He took her hand.
“Mac, I think we should talk about this,” she whispered so only he could hear.
“It’s too late,” he told her.
“You don’t really want to marry me. You told me so.”
His hand came up and he pushed her hair back from her face. Then his mouth was on hers, and the love was back between them.
A great whooping sound brought Cinnamon back to her surroundings. The entire crowd was applauding and making noise.
“Set a date,” Fletcher said. “I need something to put on the invitation.”
“We can’t set a date,” Cinnamon said. “It takes time to plan a wedding.”
“Everything’s planned,” Connie said.
“Yeah,” Amanda agreed. “You’ve got a dress, the rings, the cake.”
“I know Velma will cater,” the waitress said.
“Mac, help me out here.” Cinnamon appealed to him.
“How about the third Saturday in August?”
“That’s not the answer I wanted.”
“August twentieth.” Fletcher seized the date. “That’ll work.” He slapped Mac on the back and headed for the door.
“Congratulations,” the waitress said and returned to serving coffee. Everyone seemed to return to their normal lives. Cinnamon’s had been changed again.
And she had done it.
And Mac had helped. Did he really want to marry her?
“We have got to talk,” she told him.
“How’s it feel?” Mac asked. “It isn’t so funny now.”
“Mac, what are you talking about,” she whispered. “You just let all these people think we’re going to be married.”
“Yes,” he said. “I did.”
Chapter 11
By morning Mac was gone. As far as Cinnamon could tell, he’d left the restaurant and returned to the District without a word. She didn’t understand what was going on. She’d completely lost control of her life. This was a joke. What Mac had said was a joke. He was letting her know what it felt like to have things go wrong.
And she did know. But where was he? She needed to talk to him, especially after six boxes of wedding invitations arrived with Mac’s name as groom printed in gold lettering on a creamy background. The bakery called to tell her she needed to come in and choose a cake style. Even the minister called to congratulate her and tell her that August twentieth was available if she was planning to have the ceremony in Indian Falls.
Cinnamon refused to answer the phone again. The machine could pick up any further calls. And she had to get out of the house. Out of Indian Falls. Then she thought of Samara. Her sister could help her sort out this horrible predicament.
At that moment her cell phone rang. It was Samara. Cinnamon wondered how she knew that she needed her.
“Samara,” she said, answering the call.
“I can’t believe you’re getting married and you didn’t even tell your family. Have you talked to your mother? Have you even called Dad?”
“Stop, Samara.”
Silence ended the tirade. “What’s wrong?”
“Are you home?”
“Yes, I’m at home.”
“Do you mind if I come up? I have got to get out of this town.”
“Come on. We’ll talk when you get here.”
Cinnamon felt better by the time she pulled into a parking space in front of Samara’s house and better still after she’d told her story and drunk two glasses of white wine.
Samara’s house was much like Cinnamon’s mother’s. The walls and furniture sported bold colors. Her shades, however, were more muted instead of the screaming electricity that had surrounded Cinnamon daily.
“And he just sat there?” Samara laughed.
“Stop laughing,” Cinnamon said, giggling herself. “This is not funny.” Right after she said it, she burst into laughter.
“Well, what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.” Cinnamon spread her hands. “I need to talk to him, but he seems to be gone.”
“You know where he works and where he lives. You could go there.”
“Samara, that’s too melodramatic. This is not some movie.”
“It’s sure playing out like one.” She laughed again.
“It was a publicity stunt to get some business for the merchants. It just got out of hand.”
“Yeah!” she said. “And now there’s a wedding date and three hundred engraved invitations with your names on them. I’d say that was a little out of hand.”
“I can’t imagine what the newspaper is going to print tomorrow.”
“Or what your mother is going to say when she finds out.”
Cinnamon sat straight up. The wine sloshed around in the glass, but did not spill. “Mother! She’ll be livid that I didn’t call her first thing.”
“She’ll probably arrive in Indian Falls with a tractor-trailer load of people and design the entire event, even if it is a hoax.”
Cinnamon’s mother was dramatic and both women knew it.
“She’s something else to deal with. Right now you need to decide about Mac.” Samara got her back on track.
“How can I decide when I haven’t even talked to him?”
“That’s what you need to decide, melodramatic or not.”
“I could call the studio and ask for him.”
“There is that. And if he’s not there?”
“Samara, I am not going to his house unannounced.”
“Why not? He came to yours unannounced. And spent the night. Several nights.”
“It wasn’t like that. He rented a room and you know it.” The giggles were back.
“And what was his payment?”
Cinnamon and Mac agreed on a consideration. It was not monetary. Maybe it should have been, she thought. But what they had as consideration was better than any currency on earth. Her ears burned hot at the thought of them in the bedroom Mac had used.
Samara got up. “I’m going to get some more wine. Here’s the phone. You’ll find the number in here.”
Dropping the phone book on her lap, Samara went into the kitchen. Cinnamon opened the book and found the studio’s main number. She was sure someone would answer the phone at the television station, but not sure if she could get through to him. She dialed the number and hung up before anyone answered.
What was she going to say? Maybe it was her fuzzy mind, but nothing came. She’d had so many questions yesterday at Velma’s, but now she couldn’t think of anything to open the conversation.
Yet she was determined. She dialed. The operator answered and Cinnamon asked to speak to him. Without another question, she was put through. However, he did not answer. A woman answered, saying, Newsroom. She asked for him again giving her name.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Scott, he isn’t here at the moment. We don’t expect him until sometime on Tuesday.”
“Tuesday?”
“Yes. He’s giving a lecture to some broadcasting students at Howard University on Monday.”
“Thank you,” Cinnamon said. “I’ll try to reach him at home,” she lied.
“May I say congratulations on your engagement. It was quite a surprise for us to discover that Mac had a fiancée.”
Cinnamon didn’t know the person she was talking to and even with the wine playing fuzz with her brain, she was unwilling to say anything more than thank you. She hung up as Samara returned.
“He’s not there.”
“Call him at home.”
“I don’t have a number.”
Samara dropped a small note in her lap.
“What’s this?”
“His number. While you were on the phone, I used my cell and called a fri…someone who knows him. And got the number.”
Cinnamon remembered the man in the cafeteria who was with Mac the day she’d had lunch with Samara.
“Call him,” Samara commanded.
Cinnamon lifted the phone receiver and dialed the number. The Georgetown house came into view in her mind. She wondered which room Mac was in. Was he sitting before the fireplace or in the bedroom? Was he alone? There was really no engagement between them, not even an understanding. There could be someone else there. Maybe even Jerrilyn.
“Hello.”
She recognized Mac’s voice. He had a bedroom voice, not just a low and sexy one, although it was all of that. It also had a dark, enveloping quality like warm arms enfolding her, keeping her safe. It was everything a woman could dream of—strong, authoritative, yet sensitive and damn sexy. Cinnamon felt aroused and so far he hadn’t even gotten past “hello.”
Wrong Dress, Right Guy Page 14
