by Holly Jacobs
“Thank you, dear.” Myrtle’s voice sounded a little watery in Grace’s ear, though she didn’t appear and neither did the other two.
“I’ll be there in the morning, and we’ll figure things out.”
Grace released a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding. “And the party?”
“I’ll probably regret this, but it looks like we’re going to a party.”
A BOOMING SOUND woke Grace up with a start. Realizing someone was at the door, she crawled out of bed and automatically checked the bedroom mirror. Still beautiful. Damn.
She stumbled to the front door and jerked it open, snapping, “What?”
“Let me guess. You’re not a morning person?” Max was dressed in jeans and a dark blue polo shirt, looking more chipper than any person, sane or crazy, should look before noon.
“Morning? Is that what you call this?” She glanced at her wrist, but she didn’t have her watch on. “What time is it?”
“Time for breakfast.” He walked through the living room toward the kitchen.
“You brought food?” Donuts. Maybe cream cheese danishes? If she had to be up before lunch, she wanted something that made it worth her while.
He shook his head.
“You’re making it?”
He laughed. “I don’t cook. That’s why you got delivered pizza last night.”
“You think you can chase me out of bed in the wee hours of the morning and that I’ll be so pleased I’ll make you breakfast?”
“A guy can hope.” He glanced at his watch. “And it’s not quite the wee hours, is it? I can wait while you get dressed. Heck, if you cook breakfast, I’ll even make the coffee while you shower.” He shot her a pathetic look. “All there was at my house was left over pizza. I hoped maybe you’d take pity on me.”
Grace resisted the urge to smile. It wouldn’t do to encourage him. “Can you make a decent cup of coffee?”
“The best.”
She nodded and left him to find his way around the kitchen while she showered. There was a good point about her new look, she decided as she finger brushed her damp hair into place. She could do no wrong. She looked wonderful.
Since the fairies had shanghaied all her clothes, she wasn’t sure what she’d find in the closet. Unpacking her new clothes had seemed too overwhelming last night. She hoped the godmothers had seen that at least one outfit was ready.
One pair of khaki slacks and a peach silk blouse hung neatly pressed, waiting for her. Casual dressy. As she slipped on the outfit, she had to admit dressing up didn’t feel quite as foreign as it had yesterday.
“It doesn’t smell horrible,” she said as she helped herself to a cup of Max’s brew.
“My coffee skills more than make up for my lack of cooking skills.”
She took a sip. “Not bad.”
“Glowing praise.”
She set the mug on the counter and opened the refrigerator. Staring inside, she asked, “What do you want for breakfast?”
“What can you make?”
Grace picked up a carton of eggs. “French toast?”
“If you make it, I’ll eat it.”
“Why do I feel that would have been your response no matter what I said I’d make?”
“Because you were lucky enough to see the extent of my cooking abilities, or lack thereof, last night?”
She laughed as she started gathering ingredients. “So now that you’ve softened me up, what are we talking about? Fairies, parties, evil stepfamily?”
“The party’s not until tonight. The fairies aren’t here, are they?”
She shook her head.
“So, let’s not talk about any of it. Let’s pretend we’re friends. I just stopped by and you forced me to stay for breakfast.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Forced you?”
“Hey, what can I say? You like to feed me.” Max took at long sip of his coffee. He looked at home sitting on a stool at her counter.
Looking at him made Grace nervous. That he looked as if he belonged in her kitchen, bothered her. She didn’t want to come to depend on him. Her stories about the fairy godmothers might all end happily ever after, but this was real life. “After breakfast, then what?”
“Then we’re going to do something I rarely recommend clients do.”
“And that is?”
“We’re going to go into denial and spend the morning on my boat.” Grace was ready to object, but Max cut her off. “I’ll get you home in plenty of time to get ready for the party.”
“Why?”
“Because you need some quiet time, with no stress. Because I want to get to know you.” He hesitated a moment. “Because I couldn’t get you out of my head last night.”
A morning on his boat, no talk of fairies, or her sanity impairment. It didn’t sound so bad. She smiled at the man she’d thrust into the middle of her chaos. “I think I’d like that.”
“So, let’s get going, the morning’s awastin’.”
THE LAKE WAS perfect. Max’s sailboat was docked at the foot of State Street. It was small enough for just one person to handle, which was a good thing, since Grace didn’t know the first thing about boating. She just knew that she loved the feel of being on the lake.
She sat watching the waves, the sky and the gulls as Max steered the little boat.
“So, is it working?” Max asked.
“Working?”
“Are you relaxed?”
Grace, rocking to the rhythm of the waves, drank in the scent of the lake and considered the question. She smiled at Max. “I believe I am.”
“Good.”
“I know I can’t run from my problems, my fairies, forever, but for this morning running doesn’t seem such a bad idea.”
“I believe it’s just what the doctor ordered.”
She grinned. “I believe you’re right. So talk to me. All you’ve done is listen to me. It’s your turn. Tell me about Max Aaronson, the man, not the doctor.”
“I’m the oldest of three children. Nick’s a lawyer, Joy’s a professional do-gooder, trying to save the world. I like the lake, I like to read, I . . .” The cadence of Max’s voice, echoed the beat of the waves.
Grace sank into her seat and let herself just enjoy the moment. No thoughts of fairies, no thoughts of evil Steps. Just the boat on the lake on a perfect spring morning, and Max.
And Max.
Yes, he certainly made the day perfect.
It was a dangerous thought, one that would only please the fairies. And it was ridiculous to think the man she’d met only yesterday was perfect. Of course he had some flaws, and the sooner she found out what they were, the better off she, and this growing infatuation, would be.
Grace shut off the negative thoughts and let Max’s tales of his youthful hijinks soothe her again. Maybe he wasn’t perfect, but at the moment, he was looking pretty darned close.
“I’LL BE BACK by four-thirty,” Max called as he headed for his car.
“Four-thirty.” Reluctantly the slightly sun-pinkened Grace shut the door. She’d had fun. For four blessed hours they’d sailed. Despite her occasional depressed thoughts, she felt revitalized. Max had been right; it was just what the doctor ordered.
She looked at the boxes littering her living room floor. Sighing, she dug in. It would probably have cost her an entire advance to buy all these clothes. Soft cottons and silks, sturdy wools and twills and lacy underthings that any Madam walking the street would envy, greeted Grace’s eyes. There was everything—everything except flannel and denim. Reluctantly she admitted to herself it might be fun dressing in something different. At least for a while.
“We’re glad you like them,” Myrtle said.
She’d allowed herself to believe for a few blessed hours th
at the fairy godmothers had been just some momentary mental aberration. But, her denial hadn’t lasted long enough. It had been too much to hope that they would leave her alone.
“I figured you’d show up.”
“Of course we showed up,” Fern admonished her. “It’s part of the contract. We have to help you get ready for the ball.” Excitement was apparent in all three expectant-looking faces.
“It’s not a ball. It’s just a party at my stepsister’s place.” Grace saw the disappointment in the godmothers’ faces. A small niggling of guilt assaulted her. They might be imaginary, but apparently the three godmothers’ feelings could be hurt. “But I’m sure it will be as grand as any ball. Leila wants the rest of world to see how the rich really live. I’m sure there will be caterers, and ice sculptures, and things like that. Heck, she’ll probably even have caviar. You know, I’ve never figured out why, if you could afford not to, you’d want to eat fish eggs.” Grace wrinkled her nose.
“When you turn thirty, you’ll come into enough money to rival your sister’s. Or, more accurately, your stepsister’s husband’s,” Blossom reminded her.
“But I don’t want it. Oh, I want enough so I don’t have to worry about the bills, and enough to buy a place on Lake Erie’s shore. Maybe enough to eat out frequently, because my cooking leaves a lot to be desired, though rumor has it Max’s is worse. But that’s it. I’ll leave it where it is. Maybe some day, if I stop talking to imaginary beings, I’ll have kids. They can have it.”
“What do you have against money?” Myrtle asked.
“I just know there’s more to life than money. Look what it bought Dad—a woman who loved him for his money. He eventually saw that money was all Doris wanted, and I think that’s why he set my money up the way he did.”
“What do you mean, dear?” Myrtle asked.
“Oh, I don’t get the money until I’m thirty. You know, old enough to know I can make it on my own, and wise enough to be careful some guy’s not out to marry me just for my money.”
“And you’re sure Max isn’t?” Fern asked.
“Absolutely. He thinks I’m nuts, but he likes me anyway.” She thought of the quiet companionship they’d shared on Erie’s bay. “He’s a doctor, so I don’t think he’s hurting for money.”
“But I thought you said that most people didn’t think there was ever enough money,” Myrtle stated.
“Some people can’t get enough money, but then it would appear that Max isn’t some. He’s . . . unique.” She’d said it. Max Aaronson was unique.
He was good looking, but didn’t seem to notice or capitalize on those looks. And he noticed things about her, other than her newly improved visual enhancement. He was . . . Damn, he was almost perfect.
“So, now that you’ve got these unpacked, let’s get them all put away.” Myrtle gave a slight wave of her hand, and the piles of clothes disappeared from the living room floor, along with the bags and boxes. Only one garment bag remained, hanging from the closet door.
“You could have done that last night.” Grace felt a wave of relief. She really hadn’t wanted to hang all those clothes up.
“No, that would be like opening your Christmas presents.” Blossom frowned. “We would have taken all the fun out of your new clothes.”
“In all this stuff did you manage to find a dress for tonight?”
“Yes. Oh, yes. Wait until you see it,” came three breathless replies
“We spent most of last night working on it,” Myrtle told her goddaughter as she led her to the garment bag.
Grace unzipped it, feeling a bit like a child at Christmas.
“Oh, my!” was the best response she could muster. The dress was perfect. Cinderella couldn’t have been gowned any better.
“We argued for hours about the color,” Myrtle said.
Fern was nodding so hard that Grace worried about whiplash. “We couldn’t decide, so we finally called Glinda . . . oops.”
“She doesn’t believe in Glinda,” Blossom said.
Myrtle broke in, “It doesn’t matter if Grace believes in Glinda—Glinda believes in her. And she assured us that neither red, nor green, nor yellow were your colors.” The three fairies were once again dressed in their particular colors. They were all wearing sundresses today. Fern’s was a particularly ghastly shade of green—more puce than anything else.
“Oh, you don’t like it?” Fern asked, once again reading Grace’s mind, much to her annoyance. The dress changed from puce to lime green. “You’re right, that’s much better,” the fairy said.
Grace broke her attention away from the fairies and stared at her own gown. Gossamer material hung from the satin-lined hanger within the bag. It was virginal white, but any other comparisons to a virgin stopped there. The material was almost indecently thin; Grace couldn’t imagine what kind of underthings could be worn under such a dress.
“None,” all three fairies assured her.
“It’s not as thin as it looks. Nothing will show through. But you couldn’t have the lines underthings would make,” Myrtle explained.
“You’re lucky you have the body to wear something like this,” Fern told her happily.
“Yes. You perk where you should perk, and your bottom hasn’t expanded, which is amazing considering all the time you spend sitting at the computer,” Blossom added.
“I run.” Grace groaned as she continued inspecting her dress. It had no sleeves. Actually, there was no top half at all. It would cover her breasts, but not by much. The clingyness of the dress would be all that held it up. “I don’t think I can wear this,” she told the trio.
“Oh, yes, you can,” they chorused together.
She was still denying her ability to wear it a couple hours later as the elderly women stuffed her, rather inelegantly, into the dress. If she had written the scene, she might have described it as putting sausage into a casing. The fact that the dress’s hem fell to the floor did little to lend it an air of respectability. Of course the slit up the side didn’t help in that department, either.
“Max will drop his jaw,” Myrtle buoyantly assured her.
“I rather like his jaw where it is.” Grace lifted the gown’s hem. “Did Webster’s send any shoes over for this?”
“As we said, Webster’s didn’t do this one—we spent all night working on it,” Blossom admitted.
“Except when you were eavesdropping on me,” she accused.
“Checking in, not eavesdropping,” Blossom protested.
“Shoes,” Grace interrupted her. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but I don’t think a pair of sneakers will cut it with this dress.”
“Oh, no,” Myrtle said. “You’re absolutely right. It will take a special shoe to really show off this dress to its best advantage.” And with great flourish she waved her finger, and a pair of shoes appeared on Grace’s feet.
She looked down and was thankful to note they weren’t glass. “Oh, no,” Fern said. “Just think how impractical that would be. Why, if you broke one, you’d be spending the rest of the evening in the hospital having your foot stitched. Not very romantic at all.”
No, the shoes weren’t glass, just a deceptively simple pair of white pumps that sat on a heel so tall the laws of physics must have been tossing and turning over it. There was absolutely no explanation as to how such a tiny spike-heel could support Grace’s five-foot-five-and-half-inch frame. But they totally suited the gown. “Do you think Max will like it?” she couldn’t help asking.
“You’ll know in a minute, dear, because he’s pulling in now,” Myrtle told her.
“Is there anything I should know? Any curfews or rules? I mean, you won’t be turning him into a frog, or siccing dragons on him, or anything will you?”
The three women tittered and shook their heads. Myrtle spoke for the trio. “No, you ju
st go out and have a good time. Just not too good a time before the wedding, if you know what I mean.”
“There’s not going to be a wedding. I like him. I mean, what’s not to like? But I don’t think marrying him would be fair.” Grace tried to sound sure of herself.
“We’ll see,” was Fern’s cryptic remark as all three of them winked out of the living room when the doorbell rang.
“Perfect timing,” Grace muttered as she went to the door. “You’re early.” She drank in the sight of him. He filled out his tux beautifully. It was all she could do not to reach out and grab him. He was carrying a large box in one hand; the other reached out and took her hand as he stared at her.
She pirouetted. “Good or bad?”
“Wow,” he finally managed, coming in off the porch and into the living room. “Very, very good.” He studied her. “You know, at moments like these, the idea of your having three fairy godmothers seems more than possible, it seems plausible.” Max handed her a box. “Uh, these are for you.”
Grace opened it and found a dozen white, long-stem roses. She inhaled deeply.
“They’re beautiful,” she murmured. “Thank you.”
She walked into the kitchen to get a vase, and Max dogged her heels, asking, “Are you ready for tonight?”
Grace gave a mirthless chuckle. “As ready as any person, sane or otherwise, can be when facing my Steps. I’ll warn you, they can be a bit much. And I guarantee that Leila will want you, if only because you’re with me. But seeing how good you look in that tux, I’m afraid she’d have wanted you regardless.”
“I thought she was married.”
“And you think that would stop Leila? Nope, poor Leo never controlled her—never stood a chance, dear man. He had the proper pedigree and the proper balance in his bank account. He’s even passably attractive. But I’m afraid he was never much at controlling Leila. I don’t know many men who could. The saddest part of the whole thing is, I truly think he loves her.
“And then there’s Doris. My dad was a strong man, but even he couldn’t handle her.”
Grace felt a wave of pity. Poor Max, he’d been pulled into the middle of this mess. “You didn’t deserve having a psycho-writer and her nasty family thrown on your doorstep.” She stood on tiptoes and kissed Max’s cheek. The gentle gesture shouldn’t have inspired the fireworks she felt in the pit of her stomach. But it did.
