A Fine Romance

by Christi Barth

  “We let you whitewash the situation once.” Ben kicked Sam’s feet out of the way and sat on the end of the couch. “But now we need to know what the hell is going on in that messed-up brain of yours.”

  Sam had held his dad’s parting request close to his chest for years. When he finally shared it with someone, Mira used it as ammunition against him. Which meant he was in no particular hurry to unburden himself of those details again anytime soon. “Look, I’m having a crappy week, okay? Things at the bakery are jamming up on me. Diana’s not back from Europe.”

  Ben snorted, blowing ripples across his coffee. “That’s no surprise. Did you expect her to be?”

  “No.” He’d hoped, but deep down Sam never actually expected her to materialize, apron in hand, ready to work beside him. Stupid, in retrospect. Naïve. “I had a plan—an idea, really—to change things up at the bakery. Diana was the lynchpin.”

  “Do it anyway.”

  “Can’t.”

  “Wanna bet? It’s about time you shook up your life. You’re a smart guy, and you’ve got even smarter friends.” Ben grinned. “Between the three of us, we can figure out a solution. But you might want to start by telling us the problem.”

  Tempting. For a second, Sam thought about giving in, blurting out his dream to become a chocolatier. What good would it do, though? Besides making him think about something he needed to put firmly in his mental rearview mirror. He gulped his coffee, not caring that it seared his gullet on the way down. That pain was a lively distraction from the crushing headache and twisting in his gut.

  “How about I just explain my sudden, depressing lack of a girlfriend? Will that be enough sharing for you two to leave me in peace?”

  “If you’re going to be all stubborn about it, yeah.” Ben rotated his hand in a get-the-hell-on-with-it motion.

  “Mira and I are in different places. She doesn’t want to wait around for me to catch up. So we’re through.”

  “Simple enough. Make up with her,” Gib ordered.

  “Can’t. She wants a future. That’s the one thing I can’t promise her.”

  Gib leaned forward, cradling his mug in both hands. “But you love her? You’re sure of it?”

  “Yeah.” No doubt at all. Sam wanted to spend the rest of his life with Mira. Just like he was sure he wanted to spend the rest of his life making chocolate. Oh, and how incredibly sure he now was that neither goal would ever be in his grasp. Kind of like the dream he had at age five of tunneling through the earth to play with kids his age in China.

  “No wonder you drank enough to pickle yourself last night.” Stalking to the kitchen, Ben slammed cupboards as he gathered bread, jam and peanut butter. “What makes you think someone else even half as wonderful will ever come along? Someone who not only puts up with all your shit, but loves you back?”

  “What makes you think I have that now?”

  Gib shook his head. “You’ve lost me.”

  “Mira never said she loved me.” He thought he’d been willing to wait, let her come around to it at her own pace. And now he’d never hear those words spill out of her soft, pink lips. Not directed at him, anyway.

  A whistle erupted out of Ben, arcing with a rocket’s trajectory. “You said it first? Just dumped it on her, unwanted, like a flaming bag of shit on her doorstep?”

  “Why wouldn’t I? Love’s not a game to me. There’s no winners or losers.”

  Ben slapped a PB&J in his hand. “I’d say you’re firmly in the loser camp today, my friend.”

  Knowing the bread would settle his stomach, Sam forced down a bite. “Love shouldn’t have to be strategized, or timed out. I fell in love with Mira, so I thought she ought to know. I thought it would be easy.”

  “What—love or women? Because you’re completely off your rocker if you think either is easy.” Gib spat the word out like a bite of six-day-old salmon. “Sex is easy. Everything else is tortuous and painful and complicated.”

  “Hey. Baron von Bitter over there. Shut it. I’m getting married in less than a year, remember?” Ben patted his hand over his heart. “Allow me to wallow in the beauty of the love I have for Ivy. At least until I pay off the engagement ring.”

  “Sorry. Perhaps you should leave the room while I finish educating Sam.”

  “Try again. I’m not going to let you blacken and wither his heart against true love just because you have yet to fall.”

  “Lucifer fell. Look where he ended up.” Gib twisted in the chair to dig his wallet out of his back pocket. “Mira is a wonderful woman. Smart, beautiful and an ass like an almost ripe summer peach.”

  Jealousy and panic jockeyed for the pole position at the front of Sam’s mind. “Don’t even think about making a play for her. For Christ’s sake, there’s a code about this sort of thing.”

  Eyes blazing, Gib shot to his feet. “I would never shag your woman. Bloody hell.”

  Even half-dead and half-awake, Sam realized he’d overstepped. “Sorry. My brain stopped working pretty much the same time Mira told me not to come to her opening.”

  “I’d say it stopped working sooner than that, or you wouldn’t have mucked it up so badly. Here.” Gib opened his hand to let a business card flutter slowly to Sam’s lap.

  “Dr. Debra Rubin? Who’s she?”

  Gib sat back down, crossing his ankle over his knee. “My psychiatrist.”

  It took all of Sam’s limited mental capacity to prevent a full-out spit take. Only his strong desire to avoid scrubbing dark roast out of his cream Berber carpet made it possible. His life was bad enough now without throwing a brain excavator into the mix. “You see a shrink? I thought Brits didn’t talk about their emotions.”

  “Generally true. Unless paying someone a considerable sum to listen. In which case frugality kicks in, causing me to sing like a canary.”

  “Why are you seeing a shrink?” A sardonic grin tightened Ben’s mouth into an almost straight line. “Performance issues? Can’t, uh, let’s say, salute the queen with the same regularity now that you’re looking at thirty in your rearview mirror?”

  “Hardly.” Gib’s tone was about as warm as a winter night on Pluto. “That will have to wait for another day. This is Sam’s turn to be under the microscope. We’re not blind, Sam. We’ve watched you put your life on hold to take care of your mother. Is that what you meant when you said you didn’t have a future to offer Mira?”

  Right. Because he so wanted to poke at the pulsing, raw wound Mira left on his heart. “I’m not paying you anything, so according to your rules, I don’t have to answer.”

  A wave of his hand said that Gib wouldn’t allow him to plead the Fifth. “Doesn’t matter. I know I’m right. The point being, your actions were all very noble, but the time to martyr yourself has passed. Your mother’s let go. She’s even seeing a very nice man.”

  And the hits just kept on coming. Sam threw back the last of his coffee and sat up, dropping his feet to the ground. “You know about John?”

  “Everybody knows about John.” Ben held up a hand, then continued. “Everyone but you, I mean. Kathleen didn’t know how to break it to you. Clearly, the inability to talk to each other runs in the family. She made us all promise not to say anything.”

  “Unbelievable.” But while Sam wanted to be mad at his mother, he just couldn’t. She’d kept her secret to spare his feelings. Probably. Now that he thought about it, maybe he could get good and mad at her. They worked together five days a week, sometimes more. They spoke every night. How did she manage to look him in the eyes for months on end and not share news this huge?

  “You need to let your mother go,” Gib said.

  “Do you hear yourself? For God’s sake, she’s not an injured squirrel I nursed to health and have to release back into the wild.” He’d about reached his limit for their well-meaning interference. Sam
pushed off the couch, walked to the door and rested his hand on the knob. No need to be subtle with these two.

  “Let me restate. Kathleen has become a really very bad habit.”

  “A crutch, holding you back,” Ben added.

  Why wouldn’t they take the hint and leave? Or just shut up? If Mira couldn’t get him to back away from his mom, the opinions of two men with not even half her charms certainly weren’t going to be able to sway him. “I’m headed to the shower. These clothes are hitting the floor in about thirty seconds. In other words, thanks for the coffee, now get the hell out.”

  Gib didn’t budge. “For a while it looked like Mira was on track to break you of that habit. If you truly love her, you’ll dig yourself out of this rut. Consider Dr. Rubin to be your emotional tow truck.” He used that wing chair like a throne from which to toss out ridiculous edicts. Well, like all rulers with an overinflated sense of importance, he’d get deposed real soon.

  He stopped halfway down the hall. Turned around to glare at the friends dumping shit all over him. “I don’t need a tow. I’m not fucking broken.”

  Ben laughed. Laughed like a loon. “Of course you are. We all are. We’ve all got cracks running through our psyche. The trick is to find the right woman to help glue you back together.”

  Gib drummed his fingers on the armrest. “I’m really starting to regret bringing you along, Westcott. Sounds like Ivy’s rose-colored glasses are on permanent loan to you.”

  “So what if we’re coming at this from two different directions? Bottom line is the same. Kathleen retied the apron strings around Sam a couple of years ago. Now it’s time to untie them.”

  Sam was so tired. Tired of having the same fight over and over, but with different people. “She’s the most important woman in my life.”

  “Is she?” Gib asked.

  “She has to be. I don’t have a choice.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “Heads up, beautiful boss-lady,” Hays called out as he came down from the second floor. He carried a tray full of the signature sweet Helen had finally chosen for the store—dark-chocolate-covered coconut macaroons. Mira’s newly rediscovered love of all things cocoa bean meant the cookies were a serious threat to her waistline.

  “Third refill?” Mira asked. She’d tried to keep count, but it was impossible. Sure, she wanted to keep a firm grasp of every tiny detail. That wish hadn’t lasted five minutes past opening. They’d opened the store during the day, then closed for two hours prior to the party in order to regroup, restock and buff the place up. Reporters, bloggers, stylists and shoppers kept her running from the get-go.

  “Fourth. This crowd has a real sweet tooth. If we run low, do you think Sam would help us out with whatever cookies he’s still got on the shelves?”

  “No.” The word snapped out faster and with more vehemence than she would’ve preferred. Mira didn’t plan to tell anyone about breaking up with Sam until after the opening. Of course, that plan derailed pretty much at inception when Gib and Ben walked in on her bawling her eyes out at dawn. Luckily, Daphne had, well, gotten lucky and not come home. She and Ivy were still in the dark, along with Hays and Helen. Her friends and colleagues overflowed with excitement about tonight. The bad timing of Mira’s crushing breakup would not affect it. Period. If Gib or Ben breathed a word, she’d string them up by their balls. The grand opening of A Fine Romance was nothing less than the realization of a dream for Ivy. It had to be perfect. Unsullied. Drama-free.

  “Hays, I’m sorry,” she said with an apologetic pat to his arm. “I’m about ten steps past frenzied. While you were upstairs refilling the tray, I finished an interview for the WGN nine o’clock news. Helen’s kids arrived just in time to come to the rescue. Noah’s helping her with the food, and Lucy is bagging. Both of them are just as friendly as their mother, thank heavens.”

  Cranking his head to the side, Hays stared around Mira down the hall. “But if you’re back here with me, then who is on the register? Or does everyone get to take home their selections for free tonight? Like party favors?”

  “Are you kidding? I exalt in a hefty markup. Nothing is ever free.” Not even a smile, for her self-control and stamina were sorely taxed by every single one she doled out. “Ivy’s at the till. I figured I’d let her have some fun for a while, watching the cash roll in hand over fist. Or, rather, watching the credit card receipt tape grow longer.”

  “So you’re a television star now?”

  “Hardly,” she said dryly. Doing the interview had been equal parts fun and nerve-racking. Sort of like driving for the first time, when knowing what to do from training manuals in no way translated to the glorious scare of mashing the gas pedal into the floor. Back then, she’d driven right over the concrete marker at the end of the parking spot and taken out the muffler. Tonight’s interview hopefully went better.

  “Well, you look like a star in that outfit. I bet that after it airs, we have men by the dozens hanging out, waiting to catch a glimpse of the glamorous Mira Parrish.”

  The red silk blouse, the same deep red as the store’s logo, did cling to all the perky curves of her Miracle Bra in a very gratifying fashion. At least, watching Sam’s reaction to the tight blouse would’ve been gratifying. Had he been here, and actually in love with her. Which he most certainly was not. Not here, and not in love with her, despite what he said. If he truly loved her, he’d be willing to fight for her. For them.

  “I worried the black T-strap stilettos were a bit over the top.” But with the calf-length pencil skirt, her outfit evoked the glamour—and more importantly, the romance—of the forties. Perry Como and Ella Fitzgerald crooned over the sound system to help get people in the mood. “Fun, though. Even if my feet already throb. It isn’t fair. Why is it only women who have to suffer to be fashionable?”

  Hays looked down at his own wing-tips, high-waisted pin-striped pants and crisp white shirt topped with dark red suspenders. “Oh, I suffered. Halloween’s right around the corner. I had to fight off two other guys at the vintage store in order to grab these pants. I took an elbow right in my pancreas.”

  It steadied her jitterbugging nerves to tease him a little. “Do you even know which side of the body your pancreas is on?”

  “Sure I do. It’s the side with the elbow-shaped bruise.” He winked at her and hurried back into the melee. Only an hour into the grand opening reception and there were people wall to wall. There’d been another questionable article this morning, this time in the weekly alternative paper. Nothing that flat-out predicted the store would flop. Just a very broad hint that if it didn’t succeed, the finger of guilt should rest firmly on Mira’s shoulders. So either people didn’t believe the article, didn’t care, or they’d come to watch her flame out. Fine with her, as long as they spent money. And then maybe raved about it to at least ten of their friends tomorrow.

  Mira took a deep breath. So far, so good. No reason why she couldn’t take a luxurious two-minute break. She’d been driving herself all day. Obsessing over details finalized three days ago, and rechecking everything for the umpteenth time. It distracted her from knowing Sam was on the other side of the Dutch door. They’d kept it closed today, in the whirl of final preparations. That excuse wouldn’t fly tomorrow, though. She’d just have to suck it up and do her best to ignore the proximity of the man she wanted with all her heart. The man who simply didn’t want her enough.

  A familiar, shrill laugh switched her into crisis mode. She’d recognize that laugh anywhere. Mira knew that for certain, as she’d heard it in absolutely every corner of the globe. Despite Helen’s invitation, despite her parents’ note, she never fully believed they’d actually show up. Because the threat of epically bad publicity and losing her boyfriend at the same time wasn’t enough to deal with? Seriously, how many puppies had she run over in a previous life to deserve this?

  “Where’s the brillian
t mastermind behind this store? Fabulous idea.” Her dad’s voice boomed, easily heard over all the party chatter. If there was one thing Hale Parrish excelled at, it was making an entrance. Wearing a knit vest under a navy blazer with a sporty—for him—pale blue ascot, he looked like he’d just walked out of a party at Cannes. No doubt each piece alone cost more than her entire outfit.

  “I’m right here.” Ivy gave a little wave from where she manned the cash register. They’d strategized about whether or not to play up the store’s connection to Ivy. Given her current “hot” factor from being spotlighted in Planning for Love, Mira had no problem urging Ivy to take all the credit. Free, positive publicity was worth a lot more than her pride. “I’m so glad you like the store.”

  Dad frowned. “You shouldn’t try to take credit for someone else’s hard work, young lady. I’ll speak to my daughter and see that you’re reprimanded.”

  Mira didn’t know whether to be thrilled her father actually sounded proud of her, or appalled that he’d insulted her boss. She finally managed to slither between three women blocking the aisle, each holding an astronomically expensive vase. “Hi, I’m here. No need to threaten anyone, Dad.”

  “Oh, Mr. Parrish. It’s a pleasure to meet you after all these years.” Ivy shot Mira a what-the-heck’s-going-on look before turning on the full force of her charm. “I’m Ivy Rhodes. Mira and I were roommates in grad school.”

  “Hale Parrish.” He stretched out an arm to pull the scary skinny woman in a little black dress to his waist. “And this is my wife, Elizabeth.” They did a round of handshakes. It said a lot about their family dynamics that her parents chose to shake hands with a stranger before hugging the daughter they hadn’t seen in over a year.

  “Ivy’s the one who hired me, and first envisioned the store.”

  “Thank you for rescuing our daughter.” A sardonically hearty laugh rolled out of her dad. “We’d written her off as snakebit. Didn’t think anyone would hire her again.”