“She had a thing for him. She’d bought all his TV shows, all his books. I’m not sure she ever cooked anything from any of those books, though.” He put the book carefully back on the shelf. “Around that time, a lot of things happened. It was a really bad time. In my life.”
Cautiously, she said, “What do you mean, a bad time?”
He pulled out another book, and gazed blankly at the cover. “It was before Greg was diagnosed. It was one of those times in life when everything seems to go against you. I’d fallen out with my parents, I’d had the car accident, I’d busted up my knee.”
Penny remembered the accident. He’d been in hospital for six weeks, and whenever Greg came home to see the family, he’d joke about what a complete wally Michael was when he was sick, and how the room was filled with women all vying to be his own personal nurse. Pen had stayed well away, but she’d made him fudge and cookies, and her parents had taken the sweets in for her.
“The thing,” Michael began, “is that it was Greg who saved me.”
Pen’s throat was dry. “What do you mean, he saved you? How?”
“He saved me from everything.” He absently ran his hand over the glossy hardcover. “Pen, I was a mess. Everything was a mess. I came out of hospital, I was drinking too much, and I spent far too much time up at the casino. I lost money. I was close to losing clients. Natalie wanted nothing to do with me.”
He glanced up then but didn’t meet her gaze. “But Greg stood by me. He made me sharpen up, he damn near pounded into me that the way I was heading, it was all going down the tubes in a big way. Even your parents were clear I wasn’t welcome in their house if I didn’t lay off the booze and get my act together.”
Pen shook her head, trying to remember any of this, but she couldn’t. “I had no idea,” she said finally.
He gave her a wry smile. “You wouldn’t have because I stayed away. And while I was away, Greg was concerned enough to get in before it got out of hand. Before I killed myself, before I ruined it all, before I got in the car and ended up killing someone else.“
Pen felt ill at hearing this. How much lower could a person go, she wondered, as she watched him, as she saw the shame and the guilt written across his face. What kind of hell must he have been in to put everything in jeopardy like that? His life, the love of his friends and of his family, the dream career that he’d worked his butt off for?
And why had he told her this now? Why right now when she was trying to get her life sorted, to follow her dreams?
Why now-
She looked again at the look on his face. Shame. Guilt.
And suddenly, it made sense.
In a flash, she understood.
She said, her voice thick, tears just a whisker away from pouring out of her, “He saved you, and now you owe him.”
Michael was quiet a long moment, and Pen bit down on her lip to stop the sobs threatening her throat.
“Greg saved me. Yes. But in the end…” He drew a deep, shuddery breath. “In the end, I couldn’t save him back. When he was sick there was nothing I could do.”
“That’s not true,” she said, wishing she could just wipe away that pain in his eyes. “You did so much for him. You were there, you took him for appointments, and you were with him in hospital. You put your life on the back burner. You did so much for him, and for Mum and Dad.”
He shook his head. “I couldn’t save his life.”
“No one could save that. The best medical people in New Zealand couldn’t even do that.”
“He’d saved mine.” He turned away, and said, “But I couldn’t repay the favour.”
And now he was trying to repay the favour.
Her brother had saved Michael, but had lost his life, and now Michael was doing the only thing he could possibly do to ease what he saw as a debt.
He was going to do it by helping her.
PENNY WAS tallying up Brett and Michelle’s hours at Portman’s. She’d started twice already, but each time her mind had wandered, and she’d had to start again.
She was on her third attempt when the phone rang, and she absently picked it up, said, “Portman’s, Penny speaking.”
“Penny!” a voice shrieked and Pen’s heart almost stopped beating. “Mum? My gosh. Mum, how are you?”
She hadn’t heard her mum’s voice in weeks. Her dad had phoned and they’d emailed, but Jackie’s voice?
Relief coursed through Penny.
“I’m okay, Penny, I’m okay. We’re still up at my sister’s. It’s good up here.”
“I’m so glad.” Pen turned away from the spreadsheet as the relief settled firmly across her. “How’s Dad doing?”
“Oh, he’s fine. He’s been playing so much golf he’s getting sick of it. I never thought I’d hear those words pass from my lips, but it’s true. Pen, how are you?”
How was she? What a time to ask such a loaded question. “Everything’s under control here. The café is doing good business and-“
“No, I mean you, Penny? How are you?”
Penny pressed her lips together. “I’m fine.” She glanced at her reflection and decided not tell her mother she was getting contacts and was going to spent a fortune on a hair straightener.
“Are you really, Pen?”
“Yes. Mum, I am. Honestly.”
There was silence down the line. “We’ve been horrible parents.”
“No,” Pen said quickly. “You haven’t, of course you haven’t.”
"Yes. We have. We left you on your own.”
“Mum, it’s okay. You needed to get away.”
“It’s not okay, Pen, and I’ve missed you so much. And that’s why I rang you. To tell you, we’re coming home for Christmas.”
Pen froze. “You are?” Her heart gave a squeeze. “Are you coming home for good?”
“We are. The flights are booked, and Dave will email you through the times.”
“You’re really coming home?” She hadn’t even dared hope they’d be back for Christmas, or New Year, or her dad’s birthday in January.
“I miss you, Pen. You’re my girl and I miss you so much. I miss the shop and the house but most of all, I miss…”
Penny heard stuttering sounds, then her father said, “Did you get that Pen? You there?”
Pen panicked. “What’s happening? Has Mum had a relapse? Is she crying?”
“Oh, she’s crying, but it’s no relapse.” There was a smile in Dave Portman’s voice. “She woke up this morning, convinced she’s the worst mother in the world leaving you alone. But it’s all, good. We’re coming home, Pen. We’re coming home for Christmas.”
Chapter Thirteen
PENNY HAD made an appointment with Anita at an upmarket Parnell salon, had taken Daisy and Michelle along for moral support, and four hours later, after a cut, colour and instructions on how to correctly use the flat iron, and armed with copious bottles of product that made her head swim, Penny left. Daisy and Michelle had raced back to Daisy’s shop to relieve Joel, who was minding the store in their absence.
Penny was going down to Michael’s apartment.
As she walked out onto the street, she noticed a few heads turn.
It was her hair, she realized. It really was quite magnificent.
She stopped in front of a store front and stared at her reflection. She looked like a model. She looked like she could be on the cover of Vogue. Sort of. She tossed her hair, turned side on, then the other way, then hastily realized a sales assistant in the store was staring strangely at her.
Pen caught a bus down towards Michael’s complex, and as she walked down to his building, she checked her bank account on her phone again.
The money was there.
It was sitting in her savings account, safe, secure and waiting to make her dream come true.
At Michael’s building, he buzzed her up, and she took the elevator up to his floor.
As she climbed out, she found herself staring at herself yet again in the gilt-framed mirror on the
wall. There was no one around, so she checked out her hair some more. It was so sleek and smooth and shiny and she couldn’t get enough of it. She could actually run her fingers through it without having to work her way through knots.
She had worn the dress from the McGuinn’s barbeque. She pulled it around her hips, nearly dropped the box she carried, and walked down to Michael’s apartment. She pressed the buzzer.
She’d made a time to meet Anita at a fashion store tomorrow. Anita had said to allow two hours because they were trying on everything.
Not that Pen intended to start dressing up. She was a chef. She wore a chef’s jacket when she cooked but Anita had said, “Possibility, Penelope. It’s all about possibility.” And Anita had given her new dress the thumbs up although she’d noted the two dollar shop jandals weren’t the best footwear option. In her opinion.
The door swung open, Michael was about to step back to let her pass, when he stopped and stared.
His gaze slid down her dress, to her feet, then back up and settled on her hair.
He blinked. “What have you done?” He swallowed suddenly, stared at her hair, stared at the discreet smattering of make up on her face, then at her hair again.
He repeated, “What have you done?”
It was hard, so hard, not to reach up and stroke it again.
Michael stared at her eyes. “Where are your glasses?”
Penny’s spirits took a rapid dive at what sounded like disapproval in his voice. Could he say nothing good about this? The hair stylist had been rapt.
Anita had wiped tears from her eyes as she’d taken photos of Pen, and hugged her and told her to go and shake up Auckland cupcake culture, and if there was no such thing as a cupcake culture, then Pen should invent it and be the queen of it.
Michelle had said, “You’re the same but you’re different. It’s you but it’s not you. I’m so confused.”
And Daisy had told her the Patisserie Princess was a gonner once she saw Pen’s hair, and had marvelled at how amazing it was that straightening out the curls had made her hair even longer, in spite of several inches being chopped from the ends.
Frustration ripped through Pen.
And all Michael bloody McGuinn could do was look at her as if she was a freak show.
She said, “You have a problem with me changing the hairstyle I’ve had for pretty much all my life?”
His lips tightened and he ran his hand over the back of his neck.
"I have no problem with that," he backtracked.
He was lying.
She said, "I’m getting photos taken today. Professional shots."
"Professional?"
"For my business cards and my website."
He put both his hands in his jeans pockets. “I suppose Anita recommended someone?”
“Yes. A photographer called James Morgan.”
Michael’s face tightened even more. “She must have pulled a few strings to get him.”
Pen stared up at him in disbelief.
“Then why,” she said quietly, “are you not happy about this? Why aren’t you happy that I’m taking steps to make a go of this? You’ve given me the money and I’m serious about this and I’ll do all I can to make it a success but you seem to not…”
Care? Be happy for her? Want her to make a go of it?
He hesitated a fraction. “Of course I want you to make a go of it. But-” His gaze slipped down again and back up. “But this is such a change. You’re Pen. You’re not…” His words stopped.
“I’m not what?”
"You’re - oh, hell, Pen, you’re like… You’re not meant to be doing this. I mean – you look amazing. You look stunning.”
And that’s a problem, why? she wondered, confused...
She stared at him. “That’s it, isn’t it?”
“What’s it?”
"You want me to stay stuck in the past. That’s where you see me. In the past."
“I don’t know what you mean?” he said quietly.
“It’s staring me in the face. For some reason you want me to stay there and why is that? To make it easier to keep this promise you made Greg? Is it out of guilt? Because you couldn’t repay that favour to him?”
He just stared at her, his blue eyes shockingly quiet.
The elevator door opened but Pen kept her gaze on Michael. He looked over her shoulder, lifted his arm in greeting, and she heard the next door open, then close.
He said stonily, “You didn’t tell me why you were coming over?”
Changing the subject. So you don’t need to deal with the truth, McGuinn. Well, so be it.
She pushed her shoulders back. “I came over to say thank you. The money’s in my account now and I wanted to tell you - thank you.”
She took a deep shaky breath. The money was in her account. She had signed the lease. It was going to be the best Christmas ever and in a few months’ time…
She handed him the box she’d been carrying. “I made you some cupcakes as a thank you. I know it’s not much in comparison but there’s an assortment.”
Michael took the box from her, and lifted the lid.
She’d spent more time than usual on them. She’d made ten individual cupcakes, all in different flavours and with different. No two cupcakes looked the same. They were the best she’d ever done.
A faint smile curled at his lips. “They look incredible, Pen. They’re all different. It must have taken you some time.”
She didn’t answer. It had taken an insane length of time because she’d wanted them to be perfect and it had had nothing to do with proving to him she could do it.
She’d just wanted to give him a perfect gift.
“Don’t eat them all once,” she said, as he shut the lid.
He gave a wry smile as he reached back to set the box on the entry table. He said, “That’s what the gym is for.”
Then the smile vanished, and suddenly, all around them it was still and silent.
He said solemnly, “I wish you well with the business. You know that. I only want the best for you. You deserve it.”
He said it with such finality, it took her aback.
It sounded like goodbye.
He added, “And you do look great.” His gaze settled on her again, and with his free hand he reached out and touched her hair. She held her breath as he let it sift between his fingers. He was looking at her hair, intently at it. “This suits you. But then, your old look suited you as well.”
“The-“ Her voice cracked. She tried again. “The old look is still there.”
She wished he’d look at her. Wished he’d looked straight at her and that he would tell her that this unsettled feeling gripping her was not goodbye. Confusion welled within her.
Her gaze slipped to his mouth. To his lips. She wanted to lean in closer…
No. No.
She swallowed down hard. “I’m not sure I’m all that keen on standing in front of a mirror with a hot iron for ten minutes to get it to look like this.”
He didn’t even smile, and her heart felt heavier.
She couldn’t figure that out. Everything was good. Everything was great. Wasn’t it? She could start putting those dreams into action, start on the new reality she’d spent years dreaming about.
“I want to thank you for one more thing,” she said then.
He dropped his hand away.
He looked back at her. “What’s that?”
“That you honoured Greg’s request. It’s nice to know you could do that for him, and I mean that, because it is.”
He swallowed. She saw it, watched the rise and fall of his throat.
He’d given her the money out of guilt.
Without warning, he leant closer to her, closed that short gap, and he kissed her cheek. His lips were firm on her, the sensation, such a simple sensation, breathtaking. She closed her eyes, and waited for him to move back.
He didn’t.
His lips lingered on her, his cheek against her cheek, his skin
rough against hers, the scent of him filling her, and she felt the breath rip out of her as she squeezed her eyes shut tighter, felt tears well in her eyes.
He lifted his lips away from her cheek, and she opened her eyes.
Their gazes connected, and he was kissing her on the lips.
Emotion after confusing emotion welled and ripped through her, while underneath lay a compelling longing.
That it was so right.
And he’s saying goodbye.
It makes no sense.
She was tired of nothing making any sense.
Finally, he pulled back, and she opened her eyes to see him looking intently at her.
Tell him you love him.
No.
Just because he’d kissed her like she’d never been kissed before, just because in that moment of madness he’d decided Pen looked okay and he’d thank her for the cupcakes.
Because maybe giving her the money was his way of ending it.
Her mind went blank amidst the chaos and confusion that seemed to reside within her now.
“Good luck,” he said. “You’re going to be a star.”
A heavy burden sat over her and in her heart.
It ached.
She said, “I’ll invite you to the grand opening. It’ll be a few months away yet.”
“I saw on the contract that it’s the same block as Jerome’s apartment. That’s some co-incidence.”
She shook her head slowly. “No.” She watched his face. “It isn’t a coincidence.”
He said slowly, “What do you mean?”
She pressed her lips together. “It’s no coincidence. Your father has been subletting the café and he’s now subletting it to me.”
Shock widened Michael’s eyes but just as quickly he said, “I had no idea.”
She could see him thinking. No doubt wondering why no one had told him this.
She said, “It was your mother’s idea. She learnt I wanted to start a shop, and the tenants were moving out downstairs.”
He looked blankly at her. “My mother?”
“Yes. It’s been interesting, actually.”
“Interesting?” He shook his head. “So why exactly are they doing this when they barely know you?”
Christmas Down Under: Six Sexy New Zealand & Australian Christmas Romances Page 95
