"What is it?" Jan asked, peering at her in the dusky light of the parking lot. "Everything okay?"
Pulling out the bills, Kira counted out a thick wad of twenties attached to a single ticket with a paper clip. "Mr. Bickels gave me five hundred dollars," she whispered. "Why would he do that?"
"No way," Jan said, her eyes widening. "Maybe he's dying of terminal cancer and doesn't want to leave a big bank account to the government for death taxes."
"That's crazy. And embarrassing. I can't let him tip me like that. He's a nice old man, but it feels a little weird."
"Hey," Jan joked. "I'll take over serving him his dinner next week. Every week. Wait a minute, are you sure it's him? Check that ticket again."
"It's hard to read in the dark parking lot." Kira headed to a streetlight and pulled out the contents of the envelope.
"Do you see that?" Jan stabbed a finger at the slip. "That tip isn't from Mr. Bickels, honey."
"Then who?" Kira felt a buzzing race up the back of her neck. Her ears rang when she stared at the receipt. "This is from my last table tonight. That group of boys, guys—men."
What did you call a group of males in nice slacks and button-down shirts? Definitely not boys, they were all grown up and past childhood. The word "guys" denoted jeans and t-shirts, loud laughter and joking over sloppy burgers and beer. Men, now that was a better description that fit their attire and business talk. But it also made Kira feel older than she was.
"My last table. They said we went to high school together."
Jan gave a sly grin. "Is ‘we went to high school together' the new pick-up line? Kind of cute, I guess. Looks like you have a new admirer, girlfriend. Or maybe five new ones."
"Very funny." Kira turned over each twenty, giving a start when she saw that Caleb had written a note on the back of the last one. Thank you for a great evening. Save me a dance next week.
"It is Caleb. That's his handwriting. I remember his signature from signing the credit card slip."
"Five hundred smackers!" Jan hooted, poking Kira in the ribs. "Go shopping, girl! And take me with you!"
"I'm in shock," Kira said slowly.
"What does he mean, save me a dance?" Jan asked, running a finger over each bill in a show of ecstasy, which made Kira giggle.
"Our ten-year high school reunion."
"I hope you're going. You need to give this guy a chance."
Kira shrugged. "I'm thinking about it."
"Stop thinking and go buy yourself a new dress. That's an order," Jan added, climbing into the seat of her car.
Chapter 5
"Was I too obvious?" Caleb said to Troy when they parted ways at Troy's place after sharing a taxi. They'd been best friends since third grade so Troy knew exactly what Caleb meant, and that Caleb was referring to Kira Bancroft.
Troy leaned over, gazing into the back seat of the cab. "Like a sledgehammer. You always had a knack for subtle," he added with a smirk.
Caleb groaned. "She probably thinks I'm an idiot. I was so shocked to see her at Rossi's—waiting on our table—I couldn't stop staring at her. Man, it's been ten years. Honestly, I'd given up ever seeing her again."
"Subtle, bro, very smooth." Troy wagged his head, pointing his finger at Caleb. "Boss, you've already played all your cards. I can't believe you gave her five hundred bucks."
"She looked so—I don't know. Forlorn. Melancholy."
"That's called major fatigue after a twelve-hour shift."
Caleb shook his head, unconvinced. "There was something about her that felt off, wrong like she's had a hard life. But how would I know? I've heard nothing about her since graduation."
Despite watching her for the past two hours like a teenage goon, Caleb was still drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Despite the fatigue or underlying sadness, Kira Bancroft had a light inside. A goodness he couldn't explain.
"The girls who got away," Troy said quietly. "We all have one, don't we?"
"If I remember Megyn Stone, I know you do," Caleb prodded.
Troy gave a quick burst of laughter. "How could I forget the prettiest girl in our class?"
"Ha. Opinions vary, buddy." Caleb grew thoughtful. "We should have made a pact during dinner. All five of us have a girl we wanted in high school and never had a chance."
"Guess you're right. Never thought about it that way before."
"Do you think high school reunions can be second chances?"
Troy stared at him and Caleb didn't twitch or look away. He was serious.
"You got it bad, Boss."
"What?" Caleb put on an innocent face.
"For Kira. What happened between you two? Or should I say what didn't happen?"
Caleb thought about the necklace hiding in his wallet. That delicate piece of jewelry holding such promise, such possibilities. "Nothing happened. That's the problem. I just hope I didn't screw things up."
Troy guffawed. "You're making no sense, man. How could you screw up nothing?"
Caleb wasn't about to answer that question. "Before I flew home tonight, I was thinking about throwing the high school reunion announcement into the trash. Seeing Kira tonight, knowing she's still right here in Denver, I feel like I've been given a second chance."
"Will you tell me the story sometime?" Troy asked. "I have a distinct feeling there's a lot more than you're telling me."
Caleb shrugged. "Hey, go home. Get some sleep. See you tomorrow in the office."
"I'm sleeping in. Just warning you."
"Me, too. But try to get there before noon, if you can push yourself."
"I think I can do that."
They bid each other goodnight before going their separate ways.
Caleb's apartment was cold and lifeless after being gone for a week. Painfully empty. Maybe he should get a dog. Trouble was, he'd be kenneling the animal every other week, which wasn't fair to the dog.
After throwing the contents of his suitcase into the dirty clothes hamper, Caleb jumped into a hot shower, but not before ratcheting up the heater. Winter was on its way in Denver that was for sure.
Turning on the television, he channel-surfed for a few minutes and then thumbed through the stack of mail he'd picked up from his box. Mostly bills and fliers. What else did snail mail consist of these days?
He had a sudden urge to look up Kira's phone number—well, her parents' phone—and call her, but it was almost midnight now. He'd just come off looking crazy.
"Patience, old man," he told himself, rummaging in the cupboard for food. He paced the floor, eating a stale Oreo cookie sans cold milk to dunk it in. The bottle of milk had gone sour, expiration date five days earlier.
Finally settling into the couch, he glanced through a week's worth of ratty newspapers, his laptop open while he scrolled through email, world news, and the stock markets.
The run of commercials ended and familiar music pumped out of his television speakers. He had inadvertently left the station tuned to Turner Classics. The final scene of Casablanca was on, when Humphrey Bogart says goodbye to Ingrid Bergman, never to see her again.
That wasn't Caleb's story. After ten years, Kira hovered on his horizon once more. Full of promise, full of new beginnings, full of second chances.
"You blew it Bogart, but I'm not going to," Caleb said aloud. "I'm going to reach out and grab my chance with both hands, finally."
But first, he had some serious confessing to do. And he could only hope and pray that Kira would forgive him.
Chapter 6
Why would Caleb give her such an obnoxiously outrageous tip? Kira wondered for the hundredth time when she rode up the rickety elevator to apartment 3D.
At the moment, she was so exhausted after helping to close Rossi’s, she needed a pair of toothpicks to hold her eyes open. It was a good thing she hadn't run into somebody on the way home. At least the streets were quieter after midnight. No heavy commute traffic.
Except for the snow, which she could often do without, she had no complaints about living in De
nver. Rossi’s was located in the Washington Park area with cute shops, great restaurants, a lake, tree-lined avenues, and sparkling lights that lit up hundreds of newly refurbished older homes.
The hallway in her own apartment was dim, one of the light bulbs having bit the dust. The poor lighting gave the complex an older, rattier appearance.
Digging in her purse for her key, Kira was oddly self-conscious.
Caleb Davenport. Those eyes on hers all evening.
She honestly did not remember him. Had they actually had classes together? Troy was familiar, but that was it. Playing football helped one's recognizable quotient during the teenage years. The other guys? Not at all. Computer nerds, all of them.
High School felt a million years ago. She'd hardly cared about the gossip or culture or social life. Her pleasures were Concert Choir, weekly piano lessons, and her own small circle of friends. No sports or the Yearbook staff. She'd only ever gone to Homecoming once with a boy from her American History class and never saw again.
Her parents had splurged to get her the best piano instructor and look what their money had gotten them—an occasional gig playing Barry Manilow or Chopin for someone's wedding, or How Great Thou Art for a funeral at St. Paul's Lutheran Church. In between hymns she'd stare at the beautiful stained-glass windows.
"Oh, drats, where are my keys?" Kira suddenly muttered. "I didn't leave them in the ignition, did I?" Tears of fatigue burned at her eyes. To walk all the way back down to the apartment parking lot was daunting. She just wanted to crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head.
Her next-door neighbor cracked open the door. Insomniac Mrs. Peters. Mid-sixties, pleasant, but always had a sixth sense for when Kira arrived home.
"Kira, is that you?" Mrs. Peters hissed.
"Yes, it's me, Mrs. Peters. It's late, what are you doing up?"
"Do you really have to ask? I'm binge watching every version of Pride and Prejudice that was ever produced."
"You're a woman after my own heart. Hope it's a good one." A smile crept over Kira's lips. Ever since Mrs. Peters' grandson showed her how to instant play movies and television shows on Netflix, the woman stayed up all hours of the night. At least it gave her something to do while she waited to overcome her insomnia.
"1940 leaves a lot to be desired, despite Laurence Olivier. A little too stiff and I wish it was in color, not black and white! I think I prefer the more modern Kira Knightly version—and to think you have the very same name!"
Kira gave the woman a weak smile.
"Long day at the restaurant, dear?"
"Very."
"Anybody interesting come in tonight?"
Kira lifted an eyebrow. "No, why do you ask?"
"Just wondering, no reason."
Mrs. Peters was just as eager as her parents were for Kira to find the one and get married. It was sweet, she supposed, but finding her soul mate seemed as far away as Mars.
"There's something taped to your door, dear," Mrs. Peters added, pointing one, long finger, nails painted a chipped bright red.
"There are no water or gas leaks are there?"
"No, no."
Mrs. Peters pretended not to know what the notice was, but Kira knew better. She'd probably already read it word for word and memorized it.
"Well, goodnight. Enjoy P&P. I hear it ends pretty well."
"Oh, it does. This is my second time through, but I just love the happily ever after."
"That's called an HEA nowadays—it stands for Happily Ever After," Kira told her.
"HEA? How interesting. Sounds like a homeowner's committee, not a romance."
Kira gave a chuckle and a small wave. Inserting her house key—found at last in the bottom of a side pocket of her handbag—she ripped off the paper taped to her front door.
Sleepiness hit her like a ton of bricks and she fell inside her door, and then kicked it closed with her foot, holding up the sheet to the light so her blurry eyes could take in the words.
* * *
NOTICE TO TERMINATE TENANCY
To: Kira Bancroft
YOU ARE HEREBY NOTIFIED that your tenancy of the premises is hereby terminated due to two months past due rent and late charges.
This is a demand for payment. You must pay the full amount owed as stated in this notice within the next 72 hours. If you fail to make full payment of the amount due, your right of possession to the property will be terminated and eviction proceedings will begin immediately. Only full payment of the amount owed will prevent the termination of your lease. No partial payments will be accepted without the written consent of the landlord.
* * *
The words ran together in a long string of dreadfulness.
Kira sagged to the floor, her knees crumpling as she slid down the entryway wall to the floor. The dingy paint peeling on the corners stared at her balefully. The yellowing linoleum. Scratched kitchen sink. Frayed carpeting. Her second-hand furniture.
She paid too much for this dump and now they were kicking her out?
"But I paid my rent! You've got the wrong person."
Miss Pixie meowed plaintively, appearing around the corner of the living room. "Hey, sweet thing," Kira said, reaching out to pick up her cat and hold her close. The white cat with black paws was soft and warm as she pressed her face against her neck. "Got some bad news, Miss Pixie."
Kira had adopted the feline a few months ago at the animal shelter and it was so nice to come home to someone, even if it was a cat who could only follow her around the apartment and demand to be fed. She was a pretty good listener though. Cats usually were. Miss Pixie was still a small cat, despite the fact that she had to be about a year old now. She must have been the runt of the litter, but she was incredibly sweet.
Kira lifted the eviction notice up to her eyes again with a shaking hand. Yep, it was real. There was her name in big black letters. Her apartment number. 3D. With a slow-chugging elevator that groaned like an elephant in labor. And an emergency button that had been broken off. Even so, it was her home, even with the dingy lighting and peeling paint. Her place of respite and quiet from her parent's problems and working too many hours. Except it lacked her piano. The one thing she missed more than a perfectly clean, perfectly furnished residence.
She never invited her friends or parents here. It was too depressing. Although she did have lovely windows and her mother had helped her sew some pretty yellow gingham curtains to brighten it up during the day.
"I paid my rent," she said now, voice rising in hysteria at yet another problem demanding her attention. "Every month. I’ve never missed!"
Kira took a deep breath to calm down while she rose to her aching feet. She kicked off her shoes and they flew under the brown sofa.
The panic and tears were right there. Just waiting to dribble out of her eyes.
As if things weren't bad enough with her father and his medical bills.
The only reason she'd moved out a year ago was that she got even more agitated being around her mother. Who probably needed medical attention herself for an overactive dose of melancholy that was getting worse, not better.
Her father tried to stay positive, that was the kind of man he was, but his healthy life and career had come to a screeching halt. At the age of sixty-four.
When Kira quit grad school and began working full-time to help pay some of the medical premiums and deductibles for her father, she moved into her own place just to have some separation.
Besides, after losing the family home Kira had grown up in, the house her parents bought held no memories or nostalgia and it was much too small for all of them.
Her apartment became a refuge. A place to feel normal for snatches of time. Whatever normal was.
Staggering to the fridge, Kira snapped open a Diet Coke. Filling a glass with ice, she switched on the television.
The late-night newscaster droned on about the politics of the day. A flood disaster in California. A dam about to burst. A Boy Scout meeting the president. A fender
-bender on Highway 25—which was nothing new, the traffic through Denver on I-25 was horrific any time of day.
Talking out loud Kira said, "I paid my rent. I know I did. I never miss."
Sipping her soda, she went back over the last few weeks, trying to piece together the timeline of work and bills. It was only a week past the first of the month. Flipping through her check register, Kira saw that she was short a hundred bucks to pay November's rent—because she had paid September and October. If the rent checks hadn't been sent or cashed she'd have an extra fifteen hundred in her account.
Miss Pixie circled the armchair, mashing down the extra pillows to find the perfect spot while Kira dumped out her purse to search for a tissue.
The envelope from tonight's waitressing tips fell into her lap. She had almost seven hundred dollars in tips from tonight alone. Five hundred just from Caleb Davenport.
What on earth possessed the man to give her a five-hundred-dollar tip? He was crazy. Or he just got a bonus and was throwing hundreds around for the fun of it.
Kira narrowed her eyes. What did Caleb Davenport want from her that was worth five hundred dollars? It did not make a bit of sense.
Even so, the five hundred dollars was like manna from heaven. She could pay for groceries, the light bill, and fuel for her vehicle—after she figured out what happened to the last two months' rent checks.
Maybe there was a simple explanation. The landlord had neglected to deposit them into the bank or the office staff didn't register them properly.
Kira counted the tip money one last time and then hid the envelope in her sock drawer, suddenly starving. Shoving her purse onto the bureau, a card fell to the bedroom floor. Caleb's business card.
She flipped it over, studying the logo, DREAMS. Make your dreams come true. For pennies on the dollar.
What sort of business was he in that he flew all over the world? The company was an app for crying out loud.
Draining the drink from her glass, and splitting open a bag of Doritos, Kira sat down on the couch again, opening her laptop. Her fingers flew and within seconds the DREAMS Ultimate app came up.
The Executive Page 4
