by Susan Crosby
“What’s up?” he asked. “Do you have an answer for me?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, you have an answer?”
“The answer is yes. Yes, I’ll go with you.” Her stomach clenched. She should’ve been more relaxed after making the decision.
“Felicity.”
He said her name, just her name, but the way he said it—grateful, pleased, relieved—brought her the peace she’d been looking for. He’d been on edge, too, waiting.
“Again I remind you,” he added, “that if at any point you change your mind, you only have to say so.”
“Thank you.” Just the fact he’d offered her that out made her more confident in her decision. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night, Michael.”
“Sweet dreams.”
Seven days and counting, she thought as she drifted to sleep. It was plenty of time for all sorts of things to happen, good or bad.
Chapter Seven
“I want to try,” Michael said.
It was Saturday morning, a few minutes before the shop opened for business. He stood at the cotton candy machine that Felicity had wheeled into the public area, preparing to spin cotton candy for the Saturday giveaway.
Her brows rose. “It takes some practice.”
He’d always prided himself in his competency at whatever he did. He was a natural athlete and had always picked up skills easily, so his learning curve was usually short and simple. “So, I’ll practice. Show me how it’s done.”
She picked up a paper cone, swirled it around the inner circle, capturing the fluffy blue stuff, then she was done.
“Looks easy enough,” he said.
“Um. You need to roll up your sleeves and put on an apron. Even then you’ll still probably have it sticking to you in places that will surprise you.”
He looked her over. In a few days he would have her all to himself, away from Red Rock and business and friends. Just them. “You didn’t get any on you.”
“I’ve been doing this for a long time.” Doubt settled in her eyes, but so did humor, as if knowing she’d just presented him with a challenge, and he didn’t back away from challenges.
“Afraid I’ll be better at it than you?”
Her brows rose impossibly higher. “Oh, you’re on, sugar.”
Sugar. She used the word in a challenging way, but it struck at his core. No one had ever called him any kind of endearment, even in jest, as she had. He’d never let anyone that close.
“I’ll help you the first time,” she said, snuggling up against him from behind, holding his wrist and telling him how to capture the sticky sugar on a cone. He was center stage, with all the coffee shop customers and staff watching.
“Does it bother you that everyone’s staring?” she asked.
She was trying to mess with him, and he knew it. “They’re wishing it could be them.”
“Or they’re grateful it’s not.”
He felt her laughter against his body.
“You’re right,” she said. “One or the other. Okay, the bowl is ready. Slow and steady now, just like I showed you.” She moved his arm. The candy stuck to the cone, then to itself. “Good. Pull up and twirl.”
The crowd applauded. Relieved he hadn’t made a total fool of himself, he used the final product like a king with a scepter, making flourishes in the air, then finally bowing to the laughing crowd.
“On your own now,” Felicity said, stepping away.
Without her guidance, he discovered it wasn’t as easy. The action had to be quick and steady. He was hesitant, and it showed in the massive blue goo barely hanging from the paper cone he held up. She was having a great time at his expense, leaning a hip against a counter, her arms crossed, grinning. It made him more determined to get it right.
He did get better, but not before he was a sticky mess himself, not only his clothes, but even his hair. However, he did get the rhythm of it, and she gave him a kiss of congratulations.
He would remember it forever, not just making the cotton candy, but also her laughter and encouragement.
Just then, the shop door opened and in walked every one of his relatives now living in Red Rock.
“Look, Daddy, there’s that man you know,” Asher’s son, Jace, said, running to the counter. “He’s got cotton candy all over him!”
“That’s my cousin, Jace, and yours, too.”
Chaos ensued. People crowded around, especially the children, who reached for the candy, tugging it out of Felicity’s hands, sometimes hitting the child next to them, getting the cotton candy in their hair and eyebrows. Michael continued at the machine until everyone who wanted it had some. Felicity made small talk, oversaw his work and hand sold candy. Behind the counter were two college students who usually worked at the coffee shop. They bagged and boxed candy, as they would also do on Monday for the shipping orders.
“Go visit with your family,” Felicity said after a while, bumping her hip against his.
“Have you met everyone?”
“I have.” Felicity picked up a damp rag and brushed at the cotton candy remains clinging to him. He’d actually worn slacks and a blue dress shirt instead of white, which was a good thing. He’d left the tie behind, too, and a soft leather jacket hung on a hook in the kitchen. It was progress for him, relaxing his strict standards.
Felicity watched him join his family. His sister Wendy moseyed over with her adorable toddler, MaryAnne, on her hip. “Are you sure that’s my brother?” Wendy asked. “Today he seems nothing like our father. There was a time not that long ago I would’ve said he’d become a newer version of Dad someday, but I’ve changed my mind. Or you’ve changed him.”
“He’s been very good to me, Wendy.”
“And you’ve been good for him.”
Wendy seemed about to say something else, then stopped. Felicity liked that Wendy wasn’t going to gossip about him. One by one, the various relatives came up to her to say hello, but they saved their teasing for Michael, who got slapped on the back, laughed at and generally tormented. His cousin Wyatt tried to imitate Michael at the cotton candy machine, adding a kind of ballerina dance into his actions until Michael gave him what Felicity could only call The Look, one meant to stop someone in his tracks.
It worked.
Felicity wondered if Wyatt, if all of them, had been as serious as Michael before moving here and falling in love.
Every so often, Michael would look in her direction and smile at her in a way that made her seem like the only person in the room. Then after everyone left, he wandered over to the counter.
“Thank you,” he said.
Simple words, simply said. “You’re welcome.”
“My cousins and I are going to Red for a little lunch and a meeting. I’ll be back later. Can I bring something back for you?”
“I’ll just grab a sandwich here, but thanks.”
“All right.” He started to walk away, but she said his name. After a few seconds he came back to her.
“This meeting with your cousins? After it’s done, will all your business here be taken care of?”
“Everything except the business I have planned with you.” He made monkey sounds and scratched his chest.
She laughed. She’d expected a serious answer, a clue to where they would go from here—or after Valentine’s Day, anyway.
He left it like that, just grinned at her in a way he hadn’t before, then jogged out to catch up with his cousins. He looked years younger, she realized. That was the result of happiness, of being with family, of letting go of personal restraints.
Monkey business, indeed. She laughed, then turned to a customer, feeling lighter and younger herself, yet with more unanswered questions than she’d ever had.
* * *
Michael sent his cousins ahead, saying he had to make a phone call first. He waited until they were out of sight then called their father, his uncle James. Being around all of them today had settled things for Michael.
“Have you got good news for me, Mi
chael?” James asked.
“I’ve spoken with each of your sons. They’re not budging.”
“I’m disappointed. You always were able to persuade them and your own brothers to do what you wanted.”
“That was a long time ago. We were kids. They’re adults now, independent and competent. They didn’t appreciate my interference, and I could see there was no way I would change their minds. Rather than lose their friendship, I decided to let it go. Until you tell them why you’re giving away so much of your company to someone they know nothing about, Uncle James, they won’t be back. Frankly, even if you tell them, I wouldn’t be surprised if they stay away. It may be too late already. Why aren’t you telling them?”
“That’s no one’s business but my own.” His voice was filled with anger, and maybe hurt. “It’s my company. I built it. I can do what I want with it.”
“Then you have to accept the consequences.”
The phone call left a bad taste in Michael’s mouth. Even though his father and Uncle James hadn’t been close for years, Michael liked his uncle, who had always been good to Michael and his siblings, not holding his strained relationship with Michael’s father against them.
But both men needed to realize their children were all grown up.
Michael made his way to Red, where his cousins were already seated and enjoying a beer.
“If you ever break down and buy some jeans, Mike, remember this. You don’t iron them,” Wyatt said as he dipped a tortilla chip into salsa. Asher and Sawyer agreed, at first looking serious, then cracking up themselves.
Michael leaned back in his chair and let them play at his expense, wanting them to get it out of their systems. An empty pitcher of beer was exchanged for a full one.
“Are you done skewering me?” he asked his cousins finally.
“No promises.” Asher lifted his glass. “To John Michael Fortune, Jr., who finally took that stick out of his—”
“Expectations,” Sawyer said, elbowing his brother and lifting his glass.
They all drank to that.
They looked like cowboys. Or ranchers. Whichever term applied to them at this point. No one could tell by looking at them that they were wealthy enough not to work again, yet they had the Fortune drive to accomplish, to succeed.
This time Michael didn’t make the same mistake as he had with Wyatt his first day in town. This time they all just talked, reminiscing about the good old days and looking ahead to life in Red Rock. They plowed through a platter of enchiladas, mounds of rice and beans and a bottomless basket of chips. They were raucous without being obnoxious, and the patrons around them smiled when they all laughed, their camaraderie contagious.
But the business at hand hovered around them, a thick fog of anticipation. As their meal came to an end, Wyatt finally asked the lingering question.
“Were you able to find out anything about the mystery woman?”
Michael looked at each of them. “I talked to your father. I told him how you felt, and also that you weren’t going to budge until he explained what happened and why he’s given those shares to someone you don’t know.”
“And he said it was none of our business, right?” Asher said. “That it was his company, and he could do what he wanted.”
“Basically, yes.”
“Yet you’ve come here again to try to convince us to go back at Atlanta and the company,” Wyatt said.
“I’m here to tell you the results of my phone conversation with him, nothing more. I’m not offering my opinion anymore. You’ll decide for yourselves.”
Asher elbowed Wyatt. “He’s here to see Felicity. He couldn’t care less about us. We’re just an excuse.”
“True,” Michael said, going along with it, although he’d enjoyed his time with them and didn’t want to lose contact, especially if he continued to return to Red Rock.
“What are your intentions there?” Wyatt asked. “Sarah-Jane told me you’re taking Felicity away for Valentine’s Day.”
All three men stared at Michael, waiting for his response. As the eldest, who’d established himself first, he’d always been the unofficial leader of the bunch. To have them grilling him didn’t sit well.
“I’ve made plans for a night she’ll remember.” One he would remember, too. “She’s been working long, hard hours and deserves a break.”
Asher and Sawyer seemed to accept his answer, but Wyatt wouldn’t leave it alone. “Sarah-Jane would have my hide for telling you this, but I’m going to anyway. That first night you took Felicity out to Vines and Roses? Well, when she got home she told Sarah-Jane that she’d met the man she was going to marry.”
Michael was stunned into silence.
“So, factor that into your plans,” Wyatt said, not unkindly. “And consider how many pieces a heart breaks into when it’s shattered. Some of those pieces never do get put back together.”
Michael nodded, glad Wyatt had told him, and sorry, too. He had to give the trip more thought, his reasons behind the trip.
Not even if she begs you, Wyatt had said.
She hadn’t begged, but together they’d decided to take the next step. Except, marriage wasn’t the step beyond that one, at least not for him. Not with her. It didn’t make sense, personally or professionally....
Although he liked who he was around her.
Michael saw her through different eyes later when he returned to True Confections.
“Why the serious look?” she asked. “I thought we’d fixed that.” She set her hands on his face and smiled before rising on tiptoe to kiss him.
How did someone decide they’d met the person they wanted to marry after only a few hours together? Was she that flighty? Was this something she’d done before? Felt before? She hadn’t talked about past boyfriends, long-term or otherwise.
But she’d said she’d never been in love before. Still, falling that quickly seemed...unstable and overly emotional. Emotional displays made him back away from a woman faster than anything.
Marrying someone like Felicity would mean trying new things all the time, being spontaneous and getting caught off guard in public. Here in Red Rock it wasn’t so bad. But in Atlanta? He could lose his reputation, be perceived differently in business dealings.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Did something happen at lunch?”
He should do the right thing and back away now. But selfishly, he couldn’t. “Nothing. We’re all going to the driving range for a while.”
“That’s great. I’ll see you later, then.” She said it with a question in her eyes.
He took off without saying anything else. When he met the others at the range, he hit ball after ball with far more force than necessary. He wished Wyatt hadn’t told him.
Wyatt wandered up then. “Pretty aggressive hits, cuz.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Something on your mind? Or your conscience maybe?”
Michael gave him the eye but said nothing. He didn’t want Wyatt telling Sarah-Jane anything that might get related back to Felicity.
“You promised not even if she begged,” Wyatt said, moving closer.
“My memory isn’t faulty.”
Michael continued to hit balls long after his cousins left. He was stalling. He didn’t want to sit in the kitchen watching her all evening, knowing what he knew now.
But it was exactly what he did. Felicity and Liz were a well-oiled machine, turning out truffle after truffle. Feeling helpless, Michael volunteered to clean up after them, although it took some convincing before Felicity would let him. She kept insisting he was her guest. He finally just ignored her, filled the sink and started washing dishes, finding an odd kind of peace doing it, too, especially knowing he was easing some of her chores.
His body ached from the misuse on the driving range, and several times he’d almost just left and gone back to the hotel, then she would look at him and smile, that full-of-light, pure-down-to-her-soul smile that had enchanted him the first moment he’d seen her, and it
settled him. They were adults. They’d made an adult decision. He’d told her she could change her mind at any time.
So be it.
Chapter Eight
On Monday afternoon, Michael leaned a shoulder against a wall of the coffee shop and observed the activity. Felicity had been so relaxed yesterday during their trip to Corpus Christi for the day. They’d walked on the beach, then sat for a long time, not talking, just taking it all in. She was calm and content.
It was a far cry from the barely contained stress he saw in her now as they awaited the news crew.
She looked beautiful, like Alice in Wonderland, with her bright blue eyes and a ribbon holding her blond hair away from her face. A crisp, clean apron covered the lacy blouse and loose skirt she wore in television-friendly sage green. She made a pretty confection, he thought, as he had before, although not one made of spun sugar. She was stronger than that.
But she was understandably nervous. He’d led so many major meetings and spoken to the media so often that it was second nature to him. She preferred the microcosm of her little world, not fame or fortune. He smiled at that. Well, apparently, she did prefer a Fortune. Him.
He’d studied her the day before, looking for signs of her feelings. If she had seemed obsessed with him or dangerously dependent, he’d been prepared to return to Atlanta. Instead, he’d seen a happy, playful woman who focused her attention on him but didn’t cling.
Or maybe he wanted to see it that way—
The coffee shop door opened and in came Morris Sheffield, along with a cameraman and a young woman Michael assumed was a producer.
Michael shoved away from the wall, the movement drawing Morris’s attention. “As I live and breathe. Michael Fortune,” he said, coming directly to him. “How’re you doing?”
“Good. Great, in fact. I see you’re on the career path you chose years ago.”
“This is my third television station. Each one’s been a better market. How’s Scott?”
“My brother owns a horse-breeding ranch not far from here. You don’t talk to him?”
“He’s living in Texas? No, we haven’t communicated in years. Got our ten-year college reunion coming up soon. I’d hoped to reconnect with the old fraternity brothers I’ve lost track of. What brings you here?”
