by Susan Crosby
Ready to go, she took out her cell phone and turned it off. She would focus only on Morris and the story, her chance to shine, at least locally. A comfortable business growth could come from that. She didn’t want to get too big, too fast.
Felicity gave Morris a quick rundown on the town, trying to make it sound fascinating and lively. She pointed out The Stocking Stitch and told him about Sarah-Jane and her MBA and how she’d taken a small, successful business and turned it into a thriving, nationally known endeavor, selling yarn and knitting programs she’d designed via the internet. Sarah-Jane had combined her education with her passion, and going to work every day was a joy for her.
“Just like you,” he said.
She smiled. “Absolutely.” She drew his attention to the hardware store, with its hand-painted sign in the window, “If you can’t find it here, you probably don’t need it.” Estelle’s was on Felicity’s list of recommendations, too, as the woman waved and managed to look curious at the same time. Potential fallout there, Felicity decided, as Estelle speculated on who Felicity was walking with, maybe even knew who he was.
Red was the place to be seen in downtown Red Rock, a converted hacienda with historical significance from the days of Santa Ana, known for its top-quality food and ambience. Felicity and Morris were seated at a table by the front window. The bar was busy, but the dinner crowd wouldn’t start filling the place for a while yet, so it was quiet, with classical guitar music at just the right volume to allow for comfortable conversation.
Felicity found Morris Sheffield charming but also practiced and skilled at getting answers. Whenever she tried to divert the conversation away from herself, he brought it back almost instantly. By the time dessert arrived he probably knew more about her than Michael did.
“What made you decide to enter the competition?” he asked.
“Recognition, for one thing. But I suppose I also saw it as a form of validation. If I won, that is.”
“And you did. First and third place.” He waggled a finger at her. “Don’t tell me you were lucky.”
She smiled. “I make a good product, but luck always comes into play, don’t you think? I was lucky that those particular judges were partial to the flavors I created. Neither of them were safe, especially the one with the cayenne.”
They spent a pleasant hour together. He took lots of notes, offered advice on what to wear that would film well. They rose to leave.
Just then, she spotted Michael at the bar, a drink in his hand. He toasted her before taking a sip. She couldn’t judge his expression from that distance, but her heart leaped in her chest.
She walked Morris outside, excused herself and went back into Red. Because she was tempted to run to him, she made herself slow down, not wanting to embarrass him with a public display of affection.
But her pulse pounded and she felt a smile as wide as Texas coming.
If only he didn’t look so serious....
“This is a nice surprise,” she said, hugging him, relaxing when he hugged her back. “I didn’t expect you until at least tomorrow.”
“Surprise being the key word,” he said, holding her hand as she sat on the stool next to his. “I thought I’d be here in time to take you to dinner.”
“If I’d known you were coming, I would’ve waited.” She couldn’t get a handle on his mood. Was he upset?
“You were with Morris Sheffield.”
“You know him?”
“He and my brother Scott were fraternity brothers. How do you know him?”
“He’s doing a story on me and my shop for Valentine’s Day. He’ll be back on Monday to film it. Why didn’t you come up and say hello?”
Michael jiggled the ice in his glass, then sipped what was left. He’d been caught off guard, slammed with jealousy, when he’d spotted Felicity with Morris through the window. They’d been so wrapped up in each other that they hadn’t even noticed him. Felicity had been laughing, her cheeks flushed a little.
“How did he choose you?” Michael asked, holding up his empty glass toward the bartender, indicating he wanted another. “I’m sorry. Do you want something, Felicity?”
“No, thank you.” She folded her hands in her lap. The light had dimmed in her eyes.
He knew he was being an idiot. He couldn’t seem to stop himself. He’d arrived at her store only to find her gone, the barista and customers at the coffee shop delighting in telling him she’d gone out with an attractive stranger, not naming him, although surely some of them knew.
“Morris told me his station got a press release from the competition I won last month,” Felicity said.
“But why show up in person? Thanks,” he muttered as the bartender put another bourbon on ice in front of him. “In my experience, a producer calls and sets those things up. They may even go out in person, but not the reporter, who usually wants to keep things fresh, which is harder to do if his questions have been asked and answered already.”
She cocked her head. “Are you angry?”
Yes, he was. He believed she’d been duped or at least misled. The situation smelled of his father’s kind of manipulation, although Michael couldn’t figure out what John Michael’s intent might be. “Forgive me, Felicity. No, I’m not angry with you.”
Her smile was soft and sweet, just like he remembered.
“Would you like me to keep you company while you have dinner?” she asked.
“I can order something to go and take it back to the shop. I don’t want to disrupt your schedule.”
“I think you should eat here, take some time to relax. I know you’ve had a long week, too.”
He was so accustomed to using time purposefully that he wasn’t quite sure what to do about her offer. The luxury of just sitting, eating and talking was rare for him.
“Let’s get a table,” he said, nodding to Marcos.
He’d already noticed that she talked a lot and quickly when she was nervous or excited. He was flattered by it, knowing it. She was good at recalling stories of interesting or quirky things that happened during her day, and the retelling was usually funny. She exuded warmth, so people felt close to her and probably said things they normally wouldn’t. Like the story she’d just told about the woman who wanted to do something special for her husband for their fiftieth wedding anniversary, so she asked Felicity if she would artfully put together a basket of goodies to take along on their celebration trip.
The woman had brought in a frilly negligee, a pair of men’s silk pajama bottoms, a lamb’s-wool puff and a mix CD. Felicity added a bottle of champagne, flutes and snack foods. But the kicker was that the woman wanted a chocolate-covered cherry and a little blue pill boxed together with a card that said “Let’s relive that glorious night!”
The risqué addition made Michael smile, especially because Felicity’s cheeks turned pink. She really was an innocent, he thought. He wondered if that meant—
No. She was twenty-four years old. She couldn’t still be a virgin.
He discarded the thought, even as he also considered a fifty-year marriage. He’d never even pictured being married for one year, except in an I-would-like-to-have-children kind of way. He had liked growing up in a big family—and maybe he wanted to prove he could be a better father than his own.
When they returned to the shop, Michael sat near where she was making her prize-winning dark chocolate salted truffles. He enjoyed watching her work, especially because he’d learned at the warehouse about the importance of quality ingredients and working in smaller batches. She had a little cooling time between some steps, giving them a break now and then to interact.
He waited for the right moment, then said, “There’s something I want to discuss with you. I ran some numbers to see the best way you could grow your business. While I didn’t have access to your books, I could estimate based on percentages rather than actual numbers.” He opened his laptop. “Here’s what I came up with.”
“So, what you’re saying,” Felicity commented after
he’d shown her the basics of his idea, “is that I’m better off with a web presence than I would be trying to franchise.”
“For now. And provided you’re willing to put in the work. Growing a business online takes time and money, too. It means getting your name in front of potential business, which means getting your product spotlighted in important ways.”
“You mean, like Oprah used to do with her favorite things episodes?”
“Exactly. It’s no small commitment. You can’t really go in half-hearted, dip your toe into it and see how cold and deep it is. You would need to dive in. So the question is, do you want to stay as you are or go big? What’s important to you?”
One batch was ready to be dusted in cocoa. Michael could almost see her wheels spinning in her head as she thought about his question.
“I wouldn’t mind finding a larger, steady base, like more hotels and spas. Work I can count on, month to month. If I have standing orders, it’s much easier to plan and then there’s also little loss.”
“But the guests at those venues who try your chocolates will want a way to order some.”
“I can handle that. I’m a boutique business, a special-occasion business, except for here in town, where I try to please all ages and cater to all kinds of events. I don’t want to be hiring and firing. I like my location because it’s right in the heart of downtown and within a popular coffee shop with lots of foot traffic.”
“Then that’s what you should do.”
“I’m sorry you went to all that trouble just to have me be happy with the status quo, but honestly, Michael, you should’ve talked to me about it. I could have told you without your spending so much time on it.”
“I was curious myself.” Had he made a mistake? Overstepped his bounds? She seemed to be pulling back, not overtly so, but in ways he noticed because he was looking so closely.
She let him try his hand at rolling some truffles. It took him a lot more time and didn’t look as consistent as hers, but they tasted just as good.
“How long are you staying this time?” she asked as midnight approached and she was cleaning up.
“I’ll go back Monday.” Although he might wait until after her television interview was filmed. He had a few questions for Morris Sheffield.
Michael came up behind Felicity, then began to massage the tightness out of her shoulders. She went limp. “What time will you finish up on Valentine’s Day?” he asked.
“There’s always lots of last-minute shoppers, but I don’t stay open beyond my usual five-thirty.”
“Good. I’m taking you out. Dress up and bring your passport. You mentioned you have a passport.”
“I’ve had it for two years, but I’m still waiting for my first stamp.”
She turned around. He didn’t back up but put his hands against the counter on either side of her, caging her. She felt a little hemmed in.
“Are you flying me to Paris?”
He smiled. “No.”
“Rome?”
“Not there, either.”
“Should I pack a bag?”
“We’ll be spending the night, yes. Is that okay?” he asked, his dark eyes searching her face.
“I need to think about it.”
He put a little space between them, watching her.
“That’s not the kind of thing you should just assume I’ll want to do, Michael. I need to be asked. Invited.”
He didn’t hesitate.”Will you go away overnight with me?”
“Why?”
“Why?” he echoed.
He started to move away, but she stopped him, her hand on his chest. “We’re attracted to each other. I’m not in your head, so I don’t know how I’m different from any other woman, any other relationship. But in my head, I know how different you are, and I don’t mean because you’re a bazillionaire or something. It’s because of how I feel when I’m with you. It’s poles apart from any other relationship I’ve had.”
She flattened both hands against his chest. “And that scares me.”
“If you say yes, what happens is entirely up to you. I only want to create a memory for you.”
“We don’t have to fly somewhere to do that. I don’t need fancy.”
He framed her face with his hands. “Tell me what you do need.”
“Right now? Just you.”
His arms tightened around her. His mouth came down hard on hers, as if he’d been keeping everything in check, waiting for this moment. She squeezed him back, gave as much as she got, tipping her head back as he pressed his lips to her neck and nuzzled, making needful sounds. She felt her apron being undone and lifted away. Then his hands curved over her rear, pulling her closer to him, letting her feel his own need. He unbuttoned her blouse, his gaze never leaving hers, then his clever fingers popped open her bra, his hands replacing it, cupping and supporting, hefting their weight, teasing her nipples harder than she thought they could get, aching with the full pleasure of it.
And then he added his mouth, his warm, wet, wonderful lips and teeth and tongue. She clutched his rear, dug the heels of her hands into his rock-hard flesh and muscle, and then her fingertips, gripping him, going up on tiptoe to better align herself with him. She tugged at his shirt, trying to pull it free, needing to touch his skin.
He clutched her shoulders, moved her back. “Hold on. This is going too fast,” he said, turning away.
Felicity got her clothing back together, all the while hiding her wonder and continued surprise. She had power, she thought, surprised. She liked the feel of it, at least when it came to him, not to rule him but because she felt more his equal. He was a man of the world, and she excited him. She did. Felicity Thomas of Red Rock, Texas, college dropout and owner of a mildly successful confectionery was being pursued by—and falling in love with—Michael Fortune of Atlanta, Georgia, Harvard MBA graduate and COO of FortuneSouth Enterprises.
“I’ll take you home,” he said.
She took his outstretched hand. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said.
“Will you still take Sunday off this close to the holiday?”
“I don’t violate that personal rule.”
“Would you like to do something or rest?”
“As long as I’m with you, I don’t care.”
“Maybe a combination of doing and resting,” he said. “I’ll figure out something.”
She’d never dated a man who planned before, who made decisions, who went out of his way to create a memorable moment. Or was it more about control? He liked to be in charge, so maybe that’s why he was good at planning, whether it was a takeover or a date.
In the past, she’d been asked what she’d like to do, forcing her to become creative, then they did it.
“Is Sarah-Jane home?” he asked as Felicity opened the front door.
“She must be. She’s got a cold. She ordered Wyatt to stay away so that he wouldn’t get it.”
“Better double up on the hand washing. You don’t want to get sick with Valentine’s Day right around the corner.”
“Yes, sir.” She grinned at his nurturing concern.
“It wouldn’t hurt to take precautions.” He kissed her then, a slow, lingering, tender kiss that Felicity melted into. “Maybe you should stay at my hotel until she’s well.”
The temptation was huge, but she didn’t want to sleep with him—even just sleep with him—yet. “I’ll be fine.”
“I meant I’d get you your own room.”
“Thank you. I’m good.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m not sure when. I have a conference call early. It could lead to others.”
“No problem. And I’ll have an answer about Valentine’s night for you tomorrow, too.”
He kissed her briefly. “Practice saying this. ‘Yes, Michael.’”
“Would you two lovebirds quit already?” Sarah-Jane called out. “I’m trying to sleep.”
Felicity stepped inside. “Why are you on the couch?”
“I couldn’t
get comfortable in bed. Hello, Michael. Good night, Michael.”
He waved, then disappeared into the night.
“That was very sweet of him to be worried about you catching my cold,” Sarah-Jane said as Felicity turned on a lamp. Her roommate was wrapped up in a quilt and had three pillows stuffed behind her.
“Do you need anything, Sarah-Jane?”
“Thanks, but no.”
Felicity started up the stairs.
“Are you in love with him?” Sarah-Jane asked.
“Yes.”
“Does he feel the same?”
“I don’t know.” Felicity stopped climbing. “Did you know? Could you tell when Wyatt fell in love with you?”
“I wouldn’t let myself believe it for a long time, but I knew, on some level, yes. Do you?”
“No. I know he likes me. He’s attracted to me. It’s too soon for love.”
“Yet you admit to being in love with him.”
“I’m not a man.”
Sarah-Jane laughed. “Do you feel the same as you did before? You still think he’s the man you’ll marry?”
“I don’t know.” She still wanted to, but she was being realistic. They were opposites in so many ways, important ways.
Felicity went on up to bed. She stared at the ceiling. He’d come back early. He’d missed her, couldn’t wait until the weekend to see her. He wanted to take her away for a night. He wanted to sleep with her, she had no doubt. She wanted the same. But if she did, what happened next?
Did she want the memory of knowing him intimately or the regret of not knowing?
After a few minutes she reached for her cell phone. “Did I wake you?” she asked when he answered.
“It wouldn’t matter if you had.”
She could hear the rustling of bed linens and pictured herself curled up beside him.
