A Fine Romance

by Christi Barth

  Guilt swamped Mira. She couldn’t let Sam keep intimidating this poor man. Not when the mix-up was her fault. No matter how much her genetic imprinting of a medieval maiden thrilled at his knight-in-shining-armor routine. “Sam, back off.” She laid a hand on his arm to soften the request.

  He complied by taking two steps back, spreading his feet wide and crossing his arms over his chest. Even wearing an apron and with flour dusting his hair, Sam still looked mean and dangerous. The position drew his tan thermal shirt tight across his pecs, and bulged out his biceps. Mira hadn’t realized how intrinsically sexy it was to have someone ready to fight on her behalf.

  “I’m really, really sorry,” the man babbled at something close to the speed of light. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “I believe you. You see, this really is a romance store. Look around,” she said, waving her arm at the sparkling display cases. “Everything we sell makes people think of hearts and flowers and happily ever afters. What we do not sell are the ingredients for the kind of happy ending you had in mind.”

  Sam huffed out a breath. “Dude, didn’t you see the refrigerator case full of salads and snacks? What kind of weird sex toy store do you normally shop in?”

  “All I can say is that I’m sorry. No disrespect intended.” The man hunched around his briefcase, using it as a shield. Clearly he still regarded Sam as volatile as a grenade with its pin pulled.

  “At least your visit helped me make up my mind about the window display.” Mira reached over and snatched the robe off the chair. “I’m going to be much more careful from now on about the message I’m sending out to passersby.”

  “Let me make it up to you. Do you have some cards? I work at a web design firm of about fifty people. I’d be happy to spread the word about what you really do sell.”

  Delighted by his offer, she scooped a handful off the counter. “If you ever have more time, you should come back and shop for real.”

  With a nod, and a final wary glance at Sam, the man edged sideways out the door. Sam immediately threw the lock and flipped over the Closed sign. “Are you okay?” He folded her into his arms, stroking her hair.

  Mira dropped her cheek against his chest. Then she let her adrenaline drop back to normal. Shock and shaky knees took its place. Being held by Sam helped. A lot. It also gratified her to hear his heart pounding as though he’d just sprinted all the way from Lake Michigan, instead of just next door. Guess she wasn’t the only one who’d been freaked out by the situation. “I’m fine.” Then she took a deep breath and flattened her palms against his back. “I’m fine, now,” she amended.

  Sam pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Why didn’t you scream for help? I would’ve been over here sooner. Before he ever laid a hand on you.”

  “Because I had everything under control.”

  Hands on her shoulders, he thrust her out to glare at her with eyes the color of midnight. “Like hell you did. You need a panic button. And mace. Pepper spray, or maybe a Taser.”

  “A Taser? Do you even hear yourself? What kind of word of mouth do you think we’d build up if I went around Tasing everyone who gave me the hairy eyeball?” But right before she completely lost her temper, Mira caught herself. Sam must be coming down from his adrenaline high, too. And he must’ve been pretty scared to abandon his shop and leap into protector mode. “I don’t need any of those things, silly. I’ve got you.”

  “Damn straight.” His hands tightened, pulling her up to her tiptoes to meet his lips. They came together in a frenzy, with searing-hot, wet, deep kisses. Sam staked his claim, branding her as his own. With her eyes closed, Mira swore she felt the earth spin a little in a slow circle.

  A loud knock popped them apart with the approximate velocity of a champagne cork leaving its bottle. “Everything okay over here?” A woman with white hair smoothed into a pixie cut poked her head through the bakery doorway.

  “She’s fine, Mom. I scared off the creep before he overstepped too far.”

  Mom? After all these weeks of working a few sheets of drywall apart, this was when she had to meet Sam’s mother? Mira’s mortification, like an infectious amoeba, immediately split into two distinct layers. Bad enough that Sam thought she couldn’t take care of herself. Now his mother would always know her as the frail, scaredy-cat of a woman who’d needed to be rescued. Especially galling, considering she’d done so well in her self-defense class that she accidentally broke her instructor’s nose. While Mira appreciated Sam’s actions, she’d never doubted being able to handle her hands-ily inappropriate customer all by herself. It stung her feminist pride with the small but shooting pain akin to a paper cut.

  Worse yet was Mrs. Lyons catching an eyeful of Mira actively thrusting her tongue into Sam’s mouth. In the vast panoply of possible first impressions, sucking face never went over well. Had Mrs. Lyons been nothing more than a neighbor and fellow professional, Mira still would’ve felt smacked with eighty pounds of embarrassment. But Mrs. Lyons also happened to be her boyfriend’s mother. That fact turned the embarrassment from manageable to crushing, her face from sheet-white shock to ablaze with awkwardness.

  “Sam, why don’t you come back over here and finish bagging up these cappuccino biscotti for me? I think the secretary from that law firm is going to come pick them up in about an hour. You can’t expect a room full of lawyers to stay awake all afternoon without a hit of espresso and sugar from our biscotti, can you?”

  “Actually, I could.”

  Kathleen clomped into the store in bright green clogs. Faded jeans peeked out below a brown Lyons Bakery apron, and on top she wore a bright yellow sweater. “Please don’t say that when you hand over the box to Lydia. Their daily biscotti addiction is a steady bump to our bottom line.”

  “The biscotti can wait. I’m taking care of Mira.”

  Her lips, outlined in a sassy coral, pressed tight into a thin line. “Mira can no doubt take care of herself. You do her a disservice to think otherwise.”

  Took the words right out of her mouth. Sam didn’t need to stay and hold her hand. In fact, Mira was already itching to go and unlock the front door. The thought of prospective customers walking past instead of walking in made her spine twitch. Even though Mira wasn’t anywhere close to ready for the kissing to stop. She and Sam had stuck to their resolve not to interact during work. These unexpected daytime kisses were both a treat and a pick-me-up. The sexual equivalent of a caramel mocha frappuccino. “You sound busy. Why don’t you get back to work? We’ll call the whole incident a false alarm.”

  “I won’t let you downplay this, Mira.” Sam jabbed his finger at her, as if she didn’t take his thunderous scowl with enough gravity. “If I have to tell Ivy about it for you to take it seriously, I will. Your safety is everything.”

  Clearly he wouldn’t leave until she threw him a bone. “Hays should be walking in the door any minute. Does that put your mind to rest?”

  “Then I’ll stay until he gets here.”

  Kathleen took the dishtowel from over her shoulder and shooed her son away. “Go on. My hands are tired from piping buttercream rosettes. I could use a break. I’ll stay with her and have a chat.”

  Outnumbered, Sam gave Mira’s hand a final squeeze and went back to the bakery. His mother carefully closed both halves of the door behind him. Mira’s blood pressure shot straight back up. Why would she do that? What on earth did she need to say that Sam couldn’t hear? Would she flat-out call Mira a...um...hussy? Because the whole kissing thing two minutes ago, well, the blame rested squarely with Sam. He started it. If Mira had known his mom might pop in at any second, she would have kept her lips to herself.

  “Mira, it’s lovely to finally meet you. I’m sorry it took me so long. I get to the bakery at three in the morning to start the bread rising, so my day is almost over when yours begins.”

  “You sure drew the short
straw with that shift,” Mira said cautiously. Should she apologize back? Frankly, she’d been too overwhelmed to meet Mrs. Lyons at first, and then too scared to meet her once she and Sam cranked up the heat. Avoiding her had turned into a complicated, secret-agent-worthy task since they’d begun leaving the connecting door open yesterday.

  “I’m used to it now. For years my husband did the early baking. I’d make fun of him banging around in the dark from the warm nest of our bed. But once it fell on my shoulders, I discovered how peaceful that time of day can be.” Her eyes, a paler version of her son’s, twinkled. “I can catch up on all my soap operas without Sam muttering about how stupid they are. I’ve even started streaming old shows on the computer while I bake. Murder, She Wrote inspires me. That poor woman lived in a town the size of a sneeze and had to deal with a different murderer every week. Makes the Chicago crime stats look much more reasonable.”

  Ready to pounce into damage-control mode the moment Mrs. Lyons let her get a word in edgewise, Mira smiled. She refused to let the taint of a bad first impression stick. “I’ve heard so much about you. Every time we run together, Gib mentions your scones. He says the memory of their deliciousness and the urge to eat a hundred more is all the motivation he needs to pound the pavement.”

  “He’s a sweet boy. A liar, but sweet. Gibson could eat ten in an hour and not gain an ounce, what with the amount of calories that man burns chasing women.”

  Shaky ground here. Did Mrs. L disapprove of his womanizing ways? Or was it a test, to see if Mira would stick up for her new friend? When in doubt, steer around an obstacle. “I’ve become quite a fan of your cookies. The smell alone makes me want to burst through that door at least a dozen times a day.”

  Kathleen cocked her head to the side. “Is it truly the magical aroma of my banana oatmeal cookies that lures you? I thought for sure it was the obvious attraction between you and my son. From what I just witnessed, it certainly looks as though you can’t keep your hands—and various other body parts—off each other.”

  Oh. So the pleasantries were over, just that fast. Mira flung out one last, desperate compliment as a shield. “Sam’s a wonderful man.”

  “There we agree. You might not be aware that you’re the first woman he’s been serious about since he got back from Europe.” She waved her hand as though erasing a chalkboard. “Don’t get me wrong. He’s no monk. I’ve seen more than one woman tiptoeing down the stairs as I’m rolling the cinnamon buns at dawn. But none of them stuck. None of them erased the clouds from his eyes. You did that, Mira, and I’m very grateful.”

  The compliment was as unexpected as the brisk hug that followed. “Thank you.”

  “Of course, I never expected my son to fall for a woman who runs a sex store.” The stern, periwinkle glare held only for a second before softening. A surprisingly high-pitched giggle accompanied the laugh crinkles around her eyes.

  Mira couldn’t resist joining in. After all the hard work she and Ivy had put in selecting high-quality merchandise, the thought that someone actually expected dildos and vibrators on the shelves dissolved her into guffaws. Kathleen put a supporting arm around her shoulder. The two stood there, hunched over and laughing for almost a minute. It felt great. Talk about a great way to break the ice. When Mira finally straightened, she crossed to the refrigerator, pulled out two bottles of water and offered one to Kathleen.

  “Thank you. I needed to laugh about this whole mess. And I don’t think Ivy will be in a laughing mood when I tell her the story.” She snuck a glance at her watch. The fact the front door was locked, barring potential customers, still prickled at the back of her neck. But Mira knew she needed to take this time to get to know Kathleen. An extra five minutes wouldn’t hurt anything but her overdeveloped drive to sell.

  Kathleen took a sip. “I’m actually a bit disappointed. It would’ve been nice to pick up a cute set of trick handcuffs, maybe lined in red fake fur. They’d make my John’s eyes pop right out of his skull at dinner tonight.”

  Wait. Hold everything. Put aside the creepy factor of her boyfriend’s mother talking about sex toys. Poor, traumatized, widowed, depressed, frail, helpless Kathleen was dating? Mira couldn’t believe it. After everything Gib, Ben and Sam had told her, this didn’t add up. “John? A friend of yours?”

  “Oh my, yes. A very good friend.”

  No way could Mira let that comment slide. Normally, she wouldn’t press someone she’d just met to share the dirt on their sex life. Especially not someone almost twice her age. But this was potentially huge. It could turn so much of what she knew about Sam and his motivations inside out. Mira threw all restraint to the wind and forged ahead. “Is John a friend who appreciates gag gifts, or a friend who would actually appreciate sharing the gift with you?”

  “Do you really expect me to kiss and tell?”

  Mira goggled at Kathleen. That sealed it. “You’re dating? You’re in a relationship with a man?”

  “Yes. So are you,” she said blandly.

  “Yes, but I’m not...I wasn’t...”

  “Married?” Kathleen shook her head. “I loved Patrick with all my heart, but the marriage contract ended when he died. It’s been two years, so dating’s not illegal, you know.”

  “No. I mean, I’m thrilled you’re dating. If you’re truly ready, this is a normal, healthy thing. It isn’t good for people to go through life alone.”

  “Exactly. Now, if I bribed you with muffins every day for the rest of your life, would you be willing to tell Sam that for me?”

  “He doesn’t know?” But as the words came out of her mouth, the answer was obvious. Of course he didn’t know. Mira drained her water bottle in a slow and steady gulp. It didn’t buy her the time she needed to figure out what to say next. If she mulled and strategized for a week, she still probably wouldn’t be able to come up with a good response. So instead, she spoke straight from her heart. “He’s going to go ballistic when he finds out.”

  Kathleen wrinkled her nose and scrunched her eyes together. “Probably. Which is why I haven’t told him.” She switched off the pained look and smiled. “John and I have been seeing each other for almost three months. At our age, you start measuring relationships in dog years. We’re ready to move in together.”

  “Wow. Sam’s definitely not going to like to hear that you’re dating. But he’s going to epically lose it when you take this step. The emotional equivalent of a thermonuclear blast. At best.”

  “Tough.”

  Mira laughed, caught off guard.

  “Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate everything Sam’s done for me over the past few years. There were times the only thing holding me together was his willpower. He gave me all the support and all the time I needed to heal, and figure out how to live this new version of my life. You know, they say when you break a bone, it heals twice as strong.”

  Huh. Gib had said the same thing. Maybe it was something the grief counselors had drummed into Sam, and he’d passed on to his friends. Mira could imagine him coaching them on how to handle his mother at her most fragile. He wouldn’t have left anything to chance when taking care of her.

  “I shattered into a million pieces when Patrick died. But now I’m two million times stronger. Sam doesn’t see that. He’s still too busy protecting me. He can’t see past the memory of me huddled on the couch, not moving, barely stringing two breaths together. I’m ready to move on. I already have, in most respects. But I still need Sam to let go.”

  Mira agreed. However, it wasn’t that simple. “Worrying about you, watching over you—that’s been his whole life for quite some time. You’re asking him to go cold turkey.”

  Kathleen moved her hands restlessly on the counter. “I’ve been giving him hints, trying to spread my wings. He ignores them. No matter how hard I try, I can’t shake him. Do you think I wanted him to run me around to six different bingo games? I
don’t even like bingo. That’s just an excuse I made up to cover up when John and I go out on a date.”

  “That is very cute.” And now Mira very much wanted to meet this man who was willing to sneak around to spare Sam’s feelings. John sounded like a keeper.

  “This isn’t all about me. Sam needs to get back to living his life for himself, on his own terms. I thought, I hoped, that by letting you in he was doing just that. Finally putting his own needs ahead of mine.” Kathleen grabbed her hands, her grip strong from years of pummeling dough. “You’ve got your toe in the door, Mira. Won’t you help me shove it open all the way?”

  Mira wanted to help this friendly, sweet woman. Her motives were more than sound. But her trying to help in this situation would be as foolhardy as asking a toddler to mix the volatile ingredients for nitroglycerin. “I can’t. I want to. I agree with everything you are saying. But I have an absolutely horrible relationship with my parents. The closeness you and Sam share is an absolute gift. One that I can’t risk wrecking. I’m afraid someone else stirring the pot would only lead to heartache. The most I can do is try and drop a few hints. Give him a very subtle nudge or two.”

  Kathleen patted her hands, then let go. “Nudges are good. Almost useless with my son, as his head’s as thick as a brick, but every bit helps.”

  “And I’ll see what I can do about getting you a set of those handcuffs. As a neighborly gesture.”

  “I should hope so. I know what you’re giving my son on a daily basis. Fuzzy handcuffs are the least you can do for me.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sam stared at the inside of Mira’s refrigerator. With every second he held open the door, he wished more and more he’d thought to pull on pants before trekking out to the kitchen. All the cool air lowered his chance of a repeat performance of transforming Mira into a screaming pleasure puddle anytime soon. Bracing himself, he opened the freezer to rummage for bread.