Romance Through the Ages

by Amy Harmon

  “I’m already getting rejections from the new queries.” Stephanie sighed dramatically. “Three just yesterday.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. How disappointing.” Breezy stashed her small purse on the floor at her feet. “That means you’re a real writer, though, right?”

  “Some people say that.” Stephanie fiddled with the salt shaker. “I think it just means I’m not successful as a writer.”

  “I’ve read your manuscript and I think you’re awesome. Just keep going. You’re going to be successful.”

  “I just get tired of waiting for my dream to come true.”

  Breezy chuckled. “Boy, do I identify with that one. I had my dream come true. And then the bubble burst.”

  “Oh, yeah. Hey, I sent an email to the station objecting to your bursting bubble.” Stephanie grinned. “It was very well written.”

  Breezy laughed. “I’m sure it was.”

  “Hi, ladies.” Candy handed them menus. “What would you like to drink today?”

  When they both said, “Water,” Candy nodded and headed off toward the counter.

  Candy’s Café was uncharacteristically empty today, with three tables of people. One guy had punched in a few Elvis songs on the retro CD jukebox.

  The door opened, and Lindsey came in. Breezy and Stephanie waved her over. After the greetings, Breezy scooted over so Lindsey could slide into the booth next to her.

  Candy brought three glasses of water. “Hi, Lindsey.”

  “Hi. Thanks.”

  “How’s the romance with Ethan going?” Stephanie asked, shooting a glance at Breezy.

  “It’s not. I told you. It’s over.” Lindsey pulled a face and picked up a menu. “For. Ev. Er.”

  Candy said, “Then you’re going to be real disappointed in about one minute.”

  Stephanie looked out the window. “Uh, oh.”

  “What?” Breezy and Lindsey asked.

  Stephanie motioned with her menu toward the door. “Forever is about to follow you in the door.”

  “He’d better keep away.” Lindsey frowned.

  Candy chuckled. “I’ll be back for your orders, ladies.”

  Stephanie laughed. “And look who’s following Ethan inside. What an interesting lunch this is proving to be.”

  Breezy turned and lifted herself up so she could see over the back of the booth. Noah and Gabe walked in, and Ethan held the door for them. Noah caught her eye and nodded to her. He didn’t come over, but he and Gabe seated themselves at the counter. Thank goodness, because she wanted absolutely nothing to do with Noah Drake, stealer of dreams, burster of bubbles, giver of crummy jobs and bribe raises.

  Ethan stood by the door and scanned the café. When he caught sight of Lindsey, he smiled grimly and marched straight over to their booth.

  Lindsey hid her face with her hands. “Tell me he is not coming over here.”

  Ethan was not only coming over, but when he reached the booth, he lowered himself onto one knee.

  “Lindsey,” he said. “I need to talk with you.”

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake, Ethan,” Lindsey said, uncovering her face and making shooing motions. “Get up and go sit at a table. A different table.”

  But he didn’t. Instead, he held out a beautiful red rose to Lindsey.

  Lindsey took the rose, her face flushing, and set it on the table.

  Then Ethan began to sing. The only way the serenade could have been better is if he could actually hold a tune in a bucket, but it was obviously a song he’d written just for Lindsey in which he declared his undying love for her. And he belted it out at the top of his tuneless lungs.

  Everyone in the café turned to watch, including Noah and Gabe at the counter.

  When he finished his mangled song of undying love, still down on one knee, Ethan took Lindsey’s hand. “Lindsey Taylor, I love you with all my heart. Will you marry me?”

  “Oh, yes, yes, yes!” Her eyes moist with emotion, Lindsey slipped out of the booth while he stood and gathered her into his arms for a passionate kiss.

  The guys a few tables over whistled and catcalled.

  Breezy and Stephanie sighed as he slipped an engagement ring on her finger. As Lindsey held out her hand to show it off, Breezy saw it was the same one that had been on and off her finger several times already.

  “Ladies, I hope you will excuse us but we have some wedding plans to discuss.” Ethan took Lindsey’s hand and led her toward the door, as she looked back and giggled and flashed her ring finger.

  As they left the café, Stephanie shook her head. “Here’s hoping that ring stays put this time.”

  “How romantic,” Breezy said, sighing. “I would love for a man to make a fool out of himself for me.”

  “You thought that was romantic?” Noah’s voice startled her.

  She whirled on the bench seat and, as he seated himself at the next table, glared at him. “Yes, I thought it was very romantic.”

  He grinned. “You will never find me making a fool of myself for a woman.”

  “Just one of the many reasons you’re still single,” Breezy said, going for cool and detached.

  Noah put a hand to his chest, as if in surprise, and chuckled. “Why, Breezy Jones, I do believe that is the first rude thing I’ve ever heard you say. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

  “You seem to bring out the worst in me.”

  “Apparently so.” He shrugged. “And everybody seems to love you, so why are you still single?”

  “That is not the first rude thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

  “Probably not.” He smiled gently. “I have something important I need to discuss with you, too. Is there some place private we could go? My office, perhaps?”

  Breezy looked at him through her eyelashes, the way her mother had insisted on showing her just last night, and smiled warmly. “No, thank you, Mr. Drake. My mother warned me about men like you.”

  “Noah. Please. And your mother seemed to like me just fine when I came to dinner. Some other time?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Would you allow me to buy you dinner?”

  The guy actually looked nervous, and kind of cute in a vulnerable sort of way. And she had the strongest urge to touch his hand. Breezy’s natural friendliness took over. She couldn’t torture him any longer. “I suppose that would be okay.”

  Ugh. Had she really said that?

  He brightened. “Tonight?”

  “Sorry, busy tonight.”

  “Friday evening?”

  “I’m really sorry, but that’s the night I wash my goldfish,” she teased.

  He frowned at her. “It’s very important. I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say.”

  Breezy sighed. “I just remembered: I wash the goldfish on Thursday evenings so I can go to dinner with you on Friday, after all.”

  He almost looked relieved. “I’ll pick you up at six o’clock?”

  She nodded. “All right.”

  “Thanks.” His obvious relief surprised her. “I’ll see you then.”

  Stephanie raised an eyebrow. Breezy shrugged.

  As he made his way back to the counter to rejoin Gabe, she wondered why she was so excited at the thought of talking seriously with him.

  The last two serious talks she’d had with Noah, he’d stolen her dream job away from her, one step at a time.

  What would he try to take from her on Friday?

  * * *

  Friday, May 24

  Just two evenings later, Breezy studied Noah across the restaurant table from her. Apparently he’d remembered their talk from Paul’s retirement party because he’d brought her to Steam Me Up for crab. She loved the elegance of Steam Me Up, and the delectable crab wasn’t bad, either. That he remembered gave him some positive points, and heaven knows he needed them.

  He’d been surprisingly charming, but she chalked that up to his having an agenda for the evening. He was trying to soften her up.

  The waiter set their desserts on th
e table and refilled their waters.

  The ambience of Steam Me Up was elegant in whites and emerald greens, heavy candlesticks on each table, and attentive waitpersons, dressed in white slacks with emerald green shirts emblazoned with Steam Me Up’s logo. Just being here made her sigh.

  And their turtle cheesecake was simply to die for. He was definitely trying to soften her up, and it was working. She would have to stay on her guard when he made his move because, in her previous experience with Noah, his moves never worked out well for her.

  He still hadn’t gotten to the purpose of his talk. But he had entertained her with stories from his various jobs at different stations, and the problems encountered at each, along with tales of his hobbies of skydiving and driving fast cars. He shared a little more about his volunteer work with preemies at the hospital.

  She was having trouble not softening at that reminder, picturing him sitting in a hospital nursery, rocking an infant.

  He’d asked her about her new job and her family and had gotten her to share some information she hadn’t intended to, especially about her previous relationship with Andrew.

  When the waiter moved on, Noah pulled his dessert plate closer, and took a bite. She did the same.

  She took another bite of turtle cheesecake. Mmmm.

  She looked over at him teasingly. “Anything else you want to discuss tonight in this important talk of yours?”

  He nodded and set down his fork. “I was going to wait until after dessert, but yes.”

  She waited quietly, smiling encouragingly.

  He sat back into his chair. “Breezy, I had it brought to my attention that I’ve made a big mistake and I need your help in fixing it.”

  Interesting. What did he expect her to do? Freelance for the station to prop up the Weather Bimbo? “Do you need help setting up a cafeteria? Because I’m not a very good cook.”

  “I’d hire your mother in an instant. I’ve tasted her food.” He smiled. “No, we’re good with the break room. But I am in serious need of a meteorologist and I’m hoping you will take pity on me and accept your job back.”

  “As Pamela’s assistant?” She shuddered. “Sorry. Job from hell. No can do.”

  “No, no. The job you originally held at KWAC.”

  She wasn’t sure where he was really going with this, and she wasn’t going to make it easy on him. “Intern?”

  He leaned forward. “The job you had right before I was hired.”

  Her heart hitched a little. “Meteorologist? On-screen and everything?”

  “Yes.” He nodded. “Especially on-screen. For the whole world to see.”

  Suspicious, she narrowed her eyes. “I thought I was too Pollyanna for on-screen.”

  “I can’t tell you how very sorry I am that I ever said that about you. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

  Wow. That admission caught her by surprise. “So you want me back exactly the way I was before?”

  “Well, with just a few image changes. I have a makeover artist who is an expensive consultant in Sacramento waiting to give you the benefit of her expertise. She’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Saturday. Still not trusting this situation, she asked, “Do I have to unfasten five buttons and wear miniskirts?”

  “No. Nothing like that. Just some makeup tips. Hairstyle. That type of thing. And no more than two buttons, max, ever.”

  Still unsure but wanting to believe, she asked, “You seem desperate. Was Pamela tossed off a cliff by coworkers?”

  He laughed. “No. And she’s going to be spitting mad when I move her into another position.”

  “Not my weather producer, I pray. No can do that direction, either.”

  “No. It seems the two of you have a personality conflict.” He lifted his fork again. “Fiona will remain as your very competent weather producer. Pamela will be out of weather.”

  Should she do it? She couldn’t see a catch. So she had to learn a few makeup and hair tips. How long could that take? “I suppose I could meet with your consultant and let her jazz me up. As long as she doesn’t make me look cheap.”

  “No. I don’t want that, either. You have a very nice look.”

  Flushing, she looked into his eyes and tried to judge if he was being sincere. He seemed to be. “I have a commitment to my new job at Surf’s Up.”

  “If I understood you correctly, non-weather jobs mean giving up your dream.”

  “Well, there is that.” She paused for a second. “You don’t have another position for Pamela yet?”

  “No. I wanted to speak with you first.”

  “Maybe she’d like to work for my friend Andrew for a couple of weeks until he finds a replacement for me.”

  “I’m pretty sure that won’t fly.”

  She laughed. “So if she’s not in weather, what will she be doing?”

  He studied her intently. “So you’re accepting the job?”

  “It’s my dream job in the hometown I love. What’s not to accept?”

  “Breezy, you are such a Pollyanna,” he teased.

  Her eyes widened, wondering where he was going now.

  “You didn’t even let me mention the raise. You could have held out for a raise.”

  “I get another raise?”

  “Oh, you do drive such a hard bargain.”

  Her dream job? Another raise? And Noah smiling at her with warmth and even what looked like admiration.

  Wow. Unexpected, but wonderful.

  He put his hand across the table. Hesitantly, she put hers in his.

  It began as a handshake, but morphed into something else when he didn’t release her hand, but took it between both of his, sending shivers up her arm. “Welcome back to the Weather Cave.”

  * * *

  The rest of the evening had been amazing. And, when Noah walked her to her door and kissed her lightly on the forehead, she thought her life was perfect just the way it was right this moment.

  He handed her a card. “This has the consultant’s number. She’s expecting your call tonight to set up a time for tomorrow. Here’s my debit card to cover the cost and pay for your time tomorrow. It’ll be two hundred dollars for the first visit. Bring in the receipt so I can bill the station.”

  “Do I have that much to fix?”

  “No. She just charges that much per hour. And you’ll have two hours with her tomorrow.”

  He stayed close enough that, for just a moment, she wondered if he was going to lean in and kiss her lips, but then he pulled back. “I’ll see you on Monday. Regular time. Drop by my office when you get there.”

  “Okay,” she said, her head still reeling a bit from all that had happened tonight.

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.” She nodded. “Thanks for dinner. I enjoyed it.”

  “Now I suppose your father’s rule comes back into play.”

  “My father’s rule?”

  “About not dating coworkers. But maybe I can convince you to bend that rule a little.” He smiled. “See you Monday, Breezy. Glad to have you back on board.”

  Back on board.

  It was hard to tell with Noah Drake if what had happened tonight indicated he cared about her at all, or if it had all been about getting her back on board, his original agenda for the evening.

  She wondered if he was thinking about that almost kiss, too.

  * * *

  Breezy watched Noah’s sports car lights disappear, then went inside her small house.

  She loved all eight-hundred-and-fifty square feet of her older home because it had lots of personality. Brick, with an oval-topped front door, a beautiful brick fireplace in the living room, a large bay window and built-in shelves in the dining room, and a kitchen with a hidden, built-in ironing board. Two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a small room that doubled as her home office.

  In her office, she turned on her laptop. She might as well check out the consultant.

  While it booted up, she took off her dress and heels and slipped into bunny slippers and Tinke
rbell pajamas. Still on a high, she decided to wait until after she’d spoken with the consultant before letting Dani, Stephanie, and Lindsey know about her good news.

  An elegant website popped up for Lucienne’s Salon & Consulting. She checked the phone number against the one handwritten on the card Noah had given her. It wasn’t the same, so she had been given the woman’s private number. It was only nine o’clock, and Noah had said she was expecting Breezy’s call, so she called.

  A whispery woman’s voice answered. “This is Lucienne. Is this Breezy Jones?”

  “Yes. Hello. Noah Drake said you were going to work me in tomorrow.”

  “Oh, yes. Definitely. I am anxious to work with you. I’ve seen a tape of your show and feel I can help.”

  “What exactly will you do?”

  “The art of makeup in the first hour.”

  She’d expected that and could always use more tips and tricks. “Okay.”

  “And the haircut in the second.”

  “Haircut?” Breezy stumbled over the word, not sure she’d heard correctly. “A trim?”

  “Your hair is going to look absolutely fabulous, and much more than a trim.”

  “Wait a minute. Noah said you would help me restyle my hair. Nothing was said about cutting it.”

  “Oh, yes, he wants it cut. In a beautiful short style.”

  Short? He was trying to force her to cut her hair? Who did he think he was, anyway? Had he attended Atilla the Hun leadership training? And did he actually think she would go along with cutting her hair under duress?

  She might have been considering that very thing on her own, but she would be darned if he was going to force her to cut her hair. He wasn’t the boss of her. Well, not about her hair, he wasn’t. “How about we make an appointment for the first hour only.”

  “But Mr. Drake requested me to do the hair, as well. He even chose the style. Let me send you a picture. You’ll love it. I’ve superimposed the haircut in your hair color, on your picture.”

  “All right,” she said reluctantly. After giving Lucienne her email address, she waited, while the stylist rattled on about colors and streaks and geometric cuts and makeup and nails.