“Hi, Melanie.”
She didn’t blink or lower her weapon. Well trained by whoever had been her self-defense instructor.
“We met once. Josh Harper. A friend of Perrin and Cassidy’s. Actually Cassidy and Perrin’s; I’ve known Cass years longer. Ever since we both did a review of a gourmet burger place that opened on East Fourteenth.” And he was babbling.
The weapon lowered partway. Now rather than being aimed at his face, it was more in line with… He casually brought his knees together though he didn’t try getting to his feet.
He had to admire the effects of her rapid breathing on the thin t-shirt that ended teasingly high—high enough to indicate if she wore anything underneath, it didn’t include shorts.
“Josh Harper?” It started as a question but ended more as a statement. He also noticed her voice shifting out of New Jersey and into New York. “What are you doing here?”
“Angelo gave me a key. And you?”
“His mother was kind enough to do the same.”
Josh did his best to offer a laugh, but she hadn’t finished lowering the Taser all the way. “I do wish family members would communicate more, don’t you?” After a heartbeat or five had passed and she still hadn’t lowered her weapon, he nodded toward her hands.
She finally lowered her aim, sliding the Taser back into a large designer handbag resting on the dining table. “It would certainly have made my heart happier if they had done so. That was not an agréable way for waking up.”
By the end of the sentence her voice had shifted again, this time to the one he remembered from interviews and their one meeting. A soft, gentle French accent offered not as a coo, but rather as a gentle mask. And now he knew just what it masked. The New York fit her well, the New Jersey made no sense with who she appeared to be, the elite member of the New York social and fashion scene.
He risked climbing to his feet. Damn she was tall. With her barefoot, they were the same height. If he shed his sneakers, she’d be… Josh thought about something else as rapidly as his tired brain would allow.
“Sorry for scaring you. I’ll just, uh, go find a hotel. Do you know any around here?” He picked up his pack and did his best not to stare. He’d only ever seen Melanie presented to perfection, both as a model and at that afternoon lunch a few months before. Here, she stood in a t-shirt with no makeup and her hair mussed, and she was even more astonishing, as if by dropping the French accent she was truly revealed. Breathtaking. It was just as difficult to not stare at her delicate, patrician features as it was to not stare at her legs. The power of those intense blue eyes that so defined her public image were no less powerful in private.
She shook her head, “I arrived here just a few hours ago. I only know the hotels uptown.”
They shared a smile. Uptown in Seattle was all of a dozen blocks away, not halfway up Manhattan with clear lines of demarcation for the diverse neighborhoods in between.
“It is late,” she glanced around until she found a clock. Past midnight. “You should stay here. There are two bedrooms.”
“But—” His throat went dry picturing being in the same apartment with Melanie. This wasn’t right. He was…no longer married. Separate bedrooms, separate doors. Get a grip, Josh.
“You sure you don’t mind? It’s been a hell of a long day.”
With an elegant wave of her hand she indicated another door. She didn’t have that painful thinness that so many models cultivated, she looked incredibly fit, just lean and perfect.
Melanie returned to her own room, wishing him a neutrally pleasant goodnight. She passed close enough that he could just catch the slight rose-scent that must be her soap, warm on the gentle breeze of her passage. Not quite close enough to get past that to the woman who had brushed her cheek against his in a French-style greeting back when he’d been a different man, but still it suited her very well.
He couldn’t help but admire her careful knee bend, revealing nothing, to pick up her suitcase from where it had landed after knocking him back. Also the view of her departure. Damn but the woman could walk. And this was flat footed, without really trying. In heels and couture, she was generally acknowledged as the best walker presently working the runways.
Josh stood in the middle of the living room after her door closed, wavering as he did so. Whether that was from the exhaustion, the fall, or seeing her so close, he didn’t know.
He headed to the other bedroom, didn’t bother with the light, and simply collapsed onto the bed. Too exhausted to move, kick off his shoes, or reach for the covers; he lay there. He thought about how Constance would laugh when he told her that he was sleeping one thin wall away from one of his short-list women.
They’d had a merry date once as they’d each discussed the five people in the world that they would want a free pass on if they ever had a chance at an affair. Melanie had always topped his personal list ever since he’d seen the model’s first-ever cover on his high school girlfriend’s Teen Vogue. He’d looked into buying the back issue years later, but it was one of the very first issues and quite the collector’s item, especially when paired with Melanie’s subsequent success; far too expensive for a whim.
Constance had bought it for him for his birthday one year. They’d had a laugh over it, then he’d slipped it back into its archival plastic bag, tossed it in his desk, and forgotten about it. It was now in a box down in his BMW, one of the few gifts he’d kept from her.
Constance had joked that she couldn’t argue; should the opportunity ever arise Melanie could easily top her own list. He fell asleep before the irony of that long-ago joke could make him break down completely.
Chapter 3
Josh woke up to an internal alarm clock, one still located on another coast, and couldn’t get back to sleep. He took a quick shower and donned fresh clothes before he slipped into the still-dark living room.
No light under Melanie’s door. Of course it was barely five in the morning, no sane person would be awake yet.
By the streetlight’s glow still coming through the large west-facing living room windows, he surveyed the space. It was mostly a great room made up of entryway, living, and dining all in one space with a generous kitchen in the corner. For that he had to turn on a light.
The space was practically orgasmic. Angelo’s hand was clear here, a kitchen designed from scratch by a chef for a chef. All of the equipment top grade, cutting boards, and a second prep sink all perfectly placed. The solid cabinets of natural oak, the counter space broad, even a marble section for pastries.
Then he discovered the massive pantry. Barren except for one rack which sported an awesome collection of kitchen machines, you could easily move a desk and chair into the space. If he could squeeze in a cot, he could happily live right here next to that kitchen. He already had a couple of ideas of what to cook; there was no way he could live here another day with this kitchen and not play in it. Except this was Melanie’s place first. Maybe she’d let him come by and cook.
First thing it needed was coffee. An impressive home espresso machine sat in the corner of the main counter with a grinder standing right beside it, but he had no beans. He checked the freezer. Nope. Besides, the grinding would wake Melanie. And there was no way he could start his First Day, drum roll please, of his writing career without his morning boost.
He shut off the light, took his computer in a sling-pack over his shoulder, and tip-toed out the door.
Seattle wasn’t quiet at this hour, it was silent. Pioneer Square’s bars and restaurants had been vibrating with energy when he’d arrived last night. The warm May weather drawing crowds out onto the streets and the small tables set up outside hip bistros. Couples had wandered the art galleries arm-in-arm and small mobs of overdressed and overly-effervescent teens flashed fake IDs at anyone who even pretended any interest.
Now the streets belonged to him and some tall guy going into the back entrance of a homeless shelter’s kitchen, based on the brief flash of bright lights and shining s
tainless steel. He wandered up First Avenue toward Pike Place Market looking for a place to go, not even the coffee places were open. He checked his watch, still too early for the first chefs to hit the Market’s stalls. The air was saltwater fresh, but after the traveling he’d done and the sleep he’d missed, he’d need the air to be highly caffeinated as well if it was going to make any difference.
For ten years he’d been reviewing restaurants and food festivals all around the country. From the Bite of Seattle to the Food & Wine Classic in Aspen to the New Orleans Wine & Food Experience, he’d been to them all and written about them all. He had a press pass for the Experience next week, but he wouldn’t be headed to New Orleans to attend. He could hear people congratulating him on “getting out of the rat race” then shaking their heads sadly as soon as his back was turned. He knew it, for he’d done the same thing himself often enough.
No. A fresh start was better. If he could just find some coffee.
Pioneer Square gave way to a few unrestored blocks that had seen better days sixty or seventy years before, as he walked up First Ave. But then he hit the theaters and condo towers that had sprung up in the last decade. Still not a one of their ground-floor coffee shops was open yet.
As he crossed Marion Street, he looked downhill. The day’s first ferries for Bainbridge Island and Bremerton on the far side of Puget Sound were pulling out of the docks, the deck lights blazing as they headed to fetch the first big loads of morning commuters. He’d bet they had coffee on board. The sky was brightening, the stars that had reached through the streetlights were slowly fading away.
Even Pike Place Market at the top of the long First Avenue grade was still silent and unlit. The only vendor up and about was the fishmonger. He and his assistants were already pitching ice into the big display cases preparing for the arrival of the day’s catch. Their fish were always the freshest. Angelo or Manuel, the executive chef at his second restaurant, would be here right after the fish arrived to make sure they had the very best of the selection.
They traded friendly waves, but Josh felt a little disconnected from the world around him and simply continued along the old brick street lit by the bright “Public Market” sign glowing bright red above the market. The hundreds of other shops were still shuttered.
Then, up Post Alley, he spotted a single light. The back door leading into Angelo’s kitchen stood open to the morning air. As he approached, he smelled coffee. Rich coffee. Then he spotted Maria working over her baked goods, the patissier always had early hours to get the ovens up to temp and the breads just right.
Coffee, he could just go begging; he’d need at least a lame excuse. It seemed only right that he should go in and apologize for missing her son’s wedding party for Bill and Perrin. Yeah, really lame, but he was desperate.
He barely had time to blink before he was seated across the baking prep station from her with a cup of rich Italian roast and a cornetto filled with dark Venchi chocolate still so warm from the oven that the chocolate ran down his chin when he bit into it.
“I ran into Melanie last night.”
“Oh, where?” Mama Maria Amelia Avico Parrano Stanford was the short version of Sophia Loren: beautiful, very-nicely figured, and aging splendidly. Josh knew that her son Angelo was at least thirty, but it was difficult to equate that as being possible when observing the flour-spattered beauty working across from him.
“Around midnight. At the apartment,” he kept his tone dry.
Maria put her fingertips to her lips but they did nothing to hide her smile.
“It’s not funny. The woman nearly Tasered me.”
“As she should have, intruding on her in the middle of the night.”
Well, clearly he was going to get no sympathy here. He’d have to try the guys later. But he’d bet it wouldn’t work there either. They’d have absolutely no pity for him once they heard just how scantily clad his assailant had been.
Maybe he’d just keep his mouth shut; he had to protect her reputation after all. He sipped the coffee again and felt himself waken a little. By tonight his body would be shifting over to West Coast time.
Maria slid another tray of cornetti into the oven before sitting on a stool across from him. He liked the restaurant’s kitchen at this time of day. It was dark outside. The only light came from the single overhead that cast its light on the stainless steel table, but not beyond. Maria was a shadowy figure except for her hands brightly lit as she tore off a corner of her own cornetto.
“You must have loved her very much.”
Joshua’s coffee cup slipped from his nerveless fingers, the black liquid cutting a dark river across the floured work surface. His attempts to apologize were waved off as Maria wiped the surface and poured him a fresh cup.
At a loss for what else to do, he nodded. He still couldn’t see the chink in their marriage. Couldn’t find the place where they had gone their separate ways and their love had become a façade. Because it hadn’t. Their last night together hadn’t been filled with anger and biting words, they had simply sat all night on the couch and held each other and cried. Well, she had cried, he’d still been too numb.
“Well,” Mama Maria re-dusted her table and began rolling out the next batch of dough, “it is good that you feel so much.”
“So that it hurts this badly?” He sounded angry even to himself.
“So that you could have loved so deeply. Your heart is shattered, but it is not broken. It will heal as long as it continues to feel.” She brushed a long curl of dark brown hair, with just the slightest hint of gray, back into the kerchief she wore and began rolling out the next batch of dough with the confidence of decades of practice.
He thought about what she was saying. His heart certainly hurt enough to believe it would never heal. Though it did hurt less than it had a month ago, even a week ago when he’d walked out of the New York condo and pointed his car west. As unimaginable as it seemed, maybe someday the pain would ease enough for him to take a breath without whimpering.
Josh didn’t see it happening anytime soon, but just maybe it was possible.
“You are either scary smart or just plain scary, Maria. I’m not sure which.”
Her smile was radiant, “When you figure it out, could you let Hogan know? My husband often claims that he would very much like the answer to that question.”
“Will do.” But he wasn’t ready for whatever other insight might be coming his way. “Would it be okay if I went out and worked on my computer in the dining area for a while?”
“Of course, Joshua. If you take the small table to the left of the server’s station, that is always the last one we seat. You can sit there right through meals if you want to. Now go, do something to fix your heart; I suggest you spend the day pretending it is fine and work on a task that will distract you. I have breakfast to make and then desserts for today’s service. When I have the Pandolce Genovese ready, I will bring you a piece.”
He gathered up his computer pack, coffee, and cornetto before turning for the swinging doors. Just before he crossed the threshold Maria called out after him.
“And don’t give Melanie a thought. These things have a way of taking care of themselves.” She’d timed her comment perfectly so that he’d actually have to step out of the dark restaurant and back into the dimly lit kitchen if he wanted to ask what in creation she meant by that.
And of course, the woman—who he’d barely given any thought to at all this morning—once again stood in the forefront of his thoughts. Stood there in a worn, too short t-shirt, watching him with the most amazing eyes in the world.
“He was very cute,” Melanie admitted. Still at something of a loss as to what to do with herself, she’d returned to Perrin’s store. She felt some responsibility for helping Perrin choose the two seamstresses and she wanted to follow up on how that was working out. It was too little to repay the kindness of the lead on the condominium, but it was a deposit on account.
Karissa was faster and Clem was mo
re accurate, they complemented each other well.
“I always liked Josh,” Perrin admitted as she sorted through a shipment of fabric. Colorful bolts of mid- to lightweight summer fabrics covered most of the cutting table.
Melanie had ended up at a small desk in the corner that was buried in a storm of untended paperwork. For something to do with her hands, she began sorting and stacking it as they talked.
“I never jumped him though. Happily married and all that.” Perrin clearly enjoyed her ability to shock, but such things didn’t faze Melanie. Instead she agreed, that was a line that she too would never cross.
“No ring,” Melanie had noted that as he’d lain on the floor at her feet. “Just the tan line for one.”
Perrin disappeared behind a stack of greens: Lime, Hemlock, Apple, and Loden. “Well, if that’s true, something major happened. He was one of those guys who never stopped going on once you got him on the subject of his wife.”
“Well, he certainly didn’t mention her while I had my Taser aimed at him.”
“You aimed a Taser at him?” Perrin popped back up to look at her. She looked like a mischievous modern-day angel wrapped in a tight, over-scale herringbone-print hoodie. “Did you shoot him?”
“Non!” She’d never shot anyone except a training mannequin. “Though I came close, he did very much scare me.” And then this morning he’d been gone before she’d woken up. No note or anything, not that there was any reason he would leave one. She was nosy enough to peek in the other bedroom and see that his pack was still on the floor and the covers looked as if he’d slept on top of them and then not bothered to straighten it all up afterwards.
Did she like or dislike the implication that he would be returning? She wasn’t sure. They would have to talk it over, she wasn’t exactly in the mood to cohabit with anyone. Especially not mere days after breaking it off with Carlo. She sighed to herself. After Carlo breaking it off with her. It might be nice to have a man-free zone while she re-gathered her self-esteem.
Where Dreams Are Written Page 4
