“Well, Aunt Fran’s paying Celia a small fortune to get her invited to the best dinner parties and social events in town.”
“I hope Celia didn’t overdo it. Maybe I’d better go back in there and talk to her.”
“Please let it go. I’ve got it under control—”
“You mean, Celia has your aunt under her control—”
“You and I had such a nice time at lunch. Didn’t we?”
Macy stopped and thought. He was right. They had. “I suppose.”
“You’re helping me out,” he said. “And there was the wine punch. And that soup. I’m glad you made me order it.”
“You did like the soup?” She was pleased, but she couldn’t help feeling suspicious of him.
“I loved it. I can’t wait to go back for more.”
How he’d figured out that talk of the soup would soothe her both baffled and upset her because he didn’t know her. But maybe he wasn’t at all aware it would make her feel good. Maybe he just really liked the soup. He should. The whole world should like the soup.
It was time to go. “I’ll see you tomorrow before noon at Two Love Lane,” she said. “You’ll sign the contract and pay me fifty percent of your fee. I have meetings in the afternoon.”
She didn’t say “please” on purpose. Before he could object to any of her demands, she walked away, her ponytail swinging back and forth in time with her hips.
“I’m busy tomorrow!” he called after her.
She smiled to herself. She knew he’d hate to be bossed around and would want the last word.
“What a shame,” she called back lightly without turning around. “I’m booked the rest of the week.” She wiggled a few fingers in a semblance of a wave, her special signet ring saying “Rich in love” in Latin twinkling in the sun. “If you change your mind, I’ll see you at ten sharp tomorrow.”
He didn’t answer—playing his own cat-and-mouse game, no doubt—but she wouldn’t look back. He wanted her to. She could feel his eyes still on her. She was sure women always looked back at him. In fact, they probably walked away backward so they could stare adoringly at him and blow him kisses full of sexual promise.
Not her. She turned the corner, chin up, and was out of his sight.
Deacon Banks might be the boss among his social and professional set in New York City. But Charleston was different. She was the one with clout here. He’d have to figure out a way to deal with that fact before tomorrow morning.
CHAPTER FOUR
But when Macy got back to Two Love Lane, no one was there. Forty-five minutes passed—forty-five tortured minutes, since she couldn’t stop thinking about how crazy she’d been to take on a client who didn’t want to find love. Not only that, when she was around him, she had a difficult time thinking about business. Instead, she thought about wanting to kiss him. That didn’t bode well.
But Greer, Ella, and Miss Thing had yet to show up.
“Where could they be, Oscar?” she asked after she’d finished filing a whole stack of bills and correspondence for Miss Thing. “We never take two-hour lunches! And they’re not answering my texts.”
Oscar didn’t care. He was perched atop a table in front of a window, watching a squirrel taunt him from a branch.
“This has never happened before,” Macy said. Oscar’s tail swept the table’s marble surface, and his ears flattened, whether because of her or the squirrel she had no idea. “We don’t act this way here, Oscar. We know our mission.”
But she’d strayed from hers today by agreeing to work with Deacon Banks, hadn’t she?
She plopped herself into Miss Thing’s spindly ivory chair with the strawberry-pink goose-down seat cushion and the padded back and stared at the computer screen in front of her. A beautiful photo of Two Love Lane’s exterior, a shot taken far enough back to encompass the gate, the front garden, and the brick pavement leading to the front porch, was the screensaver. It never failed to move her, that sight. Two Love Lane was one of the most charming houses in Charleston. It was home to hearts that needed connection. And it seemed to call people. It had even called Oscar. He’d shown up on Macy’s first day of work three years before.
To make herself feel better, she clicked on the mouse, activated the computer screen, and typed in the company’s website. When she hit ENTER, the webpage blossomed before her eyes, a gorgeous site that went straight to a colorful, polished video introduction, narrated by a melodious, gently bred Southern voice—Miss Thing’s, in fact.
Welcome to Charleston, where sea breezes always blow, where palmettos, stately oaks draped in moss, and an abundance of headily scented gardens grace every street—a place to hold your dreams close and believe in love with your whole heart.
On a beautiful spring day, turn the corner from bustling East Bay Street, lined with those famous pastel-colored mansions, the ones comprising Rainbow Row, and enter a sun-dappled, cobblestoned alley with one—just one—house tucked at its end. It’s been there over two hundred years, and it already knows you better than you know yourself. Its old glazed windows on each of its three stories beckon your wounded heart, which is suddenly, crazily hopeful as you walk through black-lacquered wrought-iron gates forged with love by a Revolutionary War-era craftsman.
Tread the intricately patterned brick path winding between blazing pink azaleas and blue hydrangeas, which crowd the mossy fountain topped with a chipped plaster cherub spouting water from its mouth. Ascend broad granite steps, their edges worn smooth and round from over two centuries of booted and slippered feet, onto a painted wood-planked piazza, where lazily spinning fans hang some fifteen feet above your head. Ring the tinny old bell and wait before the tall mahogany door for one of the three owners of Two Love Lane, or their charming assistant, to invite you inside.
When you cross the threshold, sit down in one of the elegant, private sitting rooms with Ella, Greer, or Macy and sip on a crystal glass of sweet iced tea sprigged with mint. Open up, slowly but surely, under the kind, rapt attention of your hostess. Sense, too, what the house is saying—that hearts have always hungered for connection here, long before you were born, and will do so long after you’re gone.
You’re not alone, in other words. Two Love Lane is the perfect place to start your journey toward your romantic destiny.
Macy sighed with pleasure. “This,” she said. Watching that video never failed to remind her of the treasure they all had in Two Love Lane. It was special, and so were her partners and Miss Thing.
As if on cue, familiar voices sounded from outside and sharp heels ascended the steps. They were back, her best friends, who were also her professional colleagues. They’d all met at the College of Charleston. Greer, Ella, and Macy had shared a room as undergrads in one of the dormitories, a gorgeous yellow Victorian with a big wraparound porch. Greer had been a math major. Ella had studied theater. Macy had been the business major of the group. And Miss Thing had been their house mother.
Miss Thing, who was fun, clever, and had her own unique style, never put herself first, so one day the three girls devised a creative plot to set her up with her big crush … the president of the school, a handsome, confident man named Harold. There were some missteps—the girls had a learning curve, as did Miss Thing—but after a couple of months, the couple wound up marrying and being very happy. Miss Thing went from cooking supper for a bunch of hungry students to attending fancy sit-down dinners with Harold and hosting her own cocktail parties at the president’s mansion.
Harold was powerful and respected, but Miss Thing wouldn’t give up her original name, and he supported her completely. They were both so proud that hundreds of students she’d fed and coddled still stayed in contact with her. She was a campus legend. She’d always be “Miss Thing” to so many.
After the three girls graduated, they went their separate ways. But every time they got in touch, they shared matchmaking stories. It seemed once they’d had that success with Miss Thing, they were on a roll. Greer excelled at figuring out probabl
e romantic outcomes for her circle of friends. Ella, too, had a real flair for bringing out the most attractive qualities in her friends’ personalities. Macy, a born networker, was good at sensing potential connections.
But one day three years ago, Miss Thing called to say her wonderful husband had died unexpectedly. The three girls, devastated by the news, reunited in Charleston to console their dear friend. It was then that Miss Thing reminded them that they shared a special gift. She urged them to consider helping other people find true love, the way they had helped her and Harold.
Macy, Greer, and Ella had several heart-to-heart talks about their own romantic lives: what had gone right, what had gone wrong, and what they wanted to see happen for themselves in the future. It was then that they realized they wanted to help others with similar dreams.
Staring them in the face was their true calling: being matchmakers.
So that week, the girls devised their business plan. Greer and Ella moved back to Charleston, Macy found them the house, which they’d use as their office, and Two Love Lane, the matchmaking business, was born.
Miss Thing, who never revealed her age, had always aspired to dress like Elizabeth II. In winter, if it was cold enough, she wore matronly matching coats and hats she bought off eBay from her online pal Tommy, a cross-dressing clothes hound in England obsessed with Her Majesty. Today the coat and hat were emerald green, and the coat had a giant pearl brooch on the lapel. The hat sported a small peacock feather.
“Oh, my land, I got a facial,” Miss Thing announced with a dismissive wave of her hand, her standard, preemptive “this is gossip” gesture. “I was at that new place on Society Street. I heard Faye Burton is secretly flying to New York each month to meet a lover half her age.” She brushed by Macy and put her hat and pocketbook on her desk, right next to a pink feather duster. “My, my face feels tingly!” she added brightly as she took off her emerald coat. Beneath it she wore a matching sheath.
Macy couldn’t believe she wasn’t apologizing for being gone so long.
Ella, her glossy black hair cut in a blunt bob that fell right above her shoulders, came in next. She was five feet two, beautifully proportioned, voluptuous and sexy, in love with the Kardashian sisters’ style. Today she had on black from head to toe: form-fitting pants, a plunging top that stopped an inch past where the matrons of Charleston wished it would, a cropped jacket, and suede ankle boots. The only thing that wasn’t black was her scarlet-red boho handbag and the big ruby on her right index finger.
She was followed by Greer, who favored a Wall Street look, with edge. Beneath her trench coat, her tailored gray trousers and matching vest showed off her tall, slender frame. The sexy white blouse and dangling red-and-gold-striped bow tie hanging around her collar added some fun to the look. As usual, she wore her signature black horn-rimmed glasses and carried one of her collection of leather briefcases instead of a handbag. Today’s was the vintage Chanel black caviar one with the signature gold clasp. Her light brown hair was scraped back into a chignon.
Ella stopped short, presumably at the expression on Macy’s face. Greer bumped into Ella’s back.
“You didn’t have fun, Macy?” Ella’s smile faded.
“We were so hoping you would,” Greer chimed in, her brow puckered.
Miss Thing was already at the bookshelf, swiping it briskly with the pink feather duster. “I had a feeling when I woke up this morning and saw a cardinal land on my windowsill that something big was going to happen today.” She paused. “And it did. Mr. Banks came to our office, and my morning improved drastically! I so hoped you were going to have fun, sugar. Didn’t you?” She looked expectantly at Macy.
Macy didn’t want to admit it, but she had had fun. “Why would you ask me if I had fun with a client? What’s going on, ladies?”
“But did you?” Greer persisted.
“I did,” Macy said. “I mean … I had a fairly good time. As professional meetings go.”
“That’s all?” Ella’s mouth hung open. “He was gorgeous.”
“Having a good time was not the point.” Heat spread up Macy’s neck. “This was business.”
“You’re right,” said Greer. “But I couldn’t help myself. From the moment he walked in, I didn’t think of him as a client.”
“Neither did I,” said Ella.
“Me either,” echoed Miss Thing. “I thought of him as someone special.”
“All our clients are special,” Macy reminded them.
“I know,” said Miss Thing. “But he was different.”
“He was.” Ella nodded. “I don’t understand it myself. It was more than his good looks.”
Greer tapped her index finger against her pursed lips. “I can’t put my finger on it either.”
Neither could Macy. She felt entirely the same way! But should she admit that? Someone had to pull in the reins and get the team back to professional mode. “Every single person who walks over our threshold should be considered a potential business client,” she said. “So let’s put aside your reactions to him, and please help me understand better who he is. Do any of you know him?”
“Not a bit.” Miss Thing shrugged her shoulders. “He came in today and asked to see you, and—”
“You let him through without telling me.” Macy wasn’t one to get riled easily. But why on earth would Deacon have gone to such lengths to get her alone, and how had he managed it so well?
“Oh honey pie, I’m sorry.” Miss Thing lowered her duster. “He was charming. Didn’t you think so? And watch out. You don’t want to lose your grandmother’s pearl ear bob. Oscar will bat it right under a couch, and we’ll never see it again.”
Macy had been fiddling with her earring because she was jumpy, for good reason. She strode to the window and looked out at the cobblestones glowing in the afternoon sun, then turned back to face her friends. “I’m trying to understand how you could have abandoned your post, Miss Thing, without telling me. It’s not like you. And then you two”—she looked at Ella and Greer—“you disappeared for a long while too.”
“We told Miss Thing it was okay for us all to go,” said Ella.
“He was a difficult man to turn down,” Greer said.
“He was impossible to resist,” Miss Thing insisted.
“I get it.” Macy swallowed her chagrin. “He was handsome and … and sexy.”
“Oh, but it was more than his sex appeal.” Ella giggled.
“Abundant though that was,” Greer tacked on because they couldn’t let that go now, could they?
“He gave us each gift certificates.” Miss Thing smiled dreamily. “That’s how I got my facial.”
“And I got one to the Peninsula Grill,” Ella crowed, “good only for today. Enough money on it for lunch for six. I couldn’t resist calling five of the backstage crew from the theater. How often do starving artists get to eat at such a nice place?”
“I got sucked in too,” Greer said. “He gave me a certificate to the Apple Store. I could buy up to three laptops to donate to the elementary school, but the deadline was today at one p.m. I couldn’t pass up that opportunity.”
“Mr. Banks bribed each of you to leave us alone together?” Macy stared at them. “What if he was a serial killer? I was a sitting duck!”
“We trusted him.” Miss Thing flicked her feather duster on top of a lamp shade.
“Why?” Macy threw up her hands. “He’s a total stranger!”
“He Googled himself for us,” said Ella. “We saw a picture of him with his aunt—Fran Banks! No wonder he has such star quality. She’s beautiful. And charismatic.”
“If a bit bossy for my taste,” Greer added.
“She can be downright nosy,” Miss Thing said, “which we all are, but she doesn’t try to hide it. Someone needs to teach her manners.” Being impolite was anathema to Miss Thing.
“Are we so starstruck by celebrities that the people who know them get a free pass to barge into my office?” Macy asked.
“He didn
’t barge, did he?” Miss Thing blinked several times, her palm curved above her heart. “He told me he’d be gracious.”
As Ella drew a wand of scarlet Chanel lip gloss over her lips, she somehow managed to say, “His eyes were genuinely warm and friendly. He’s no sociopath.” She tossed the lip gloss back into her purse. “And when he said he was desperate to make his aunt happy, I felt sorry for him. I like a man who loves his family.”
“Pfft,” Macy replied.
Greer chuckled. “I have to admit, I’d had a tedious morning. Nothing was going right. I was so happy to deliver those laptops to the school.”
“And I love the Peninsula Grill’s she-crab soup,” Ella enthused. “Our new lighting technician is a fan of Huguenot Torte. And we all enjoyed the good-looking waiters. They surf, most of them. They’ve got awesome tans.”
Macy covered her face for a moment, then dropped her hands. “He did all this just to get you out of here?”
Miss Thing nodded. “Not only was he sex on a stick and lots of fun, Mr. Banks was determined.”
“Miss Thing.” Macy had to suppress a smile and stay stern. “It’s his determination factor that bothers me. We’re in charge here. Not a stranger.”
“Mr. Banks told us he needed your undivided attention,” Ella said. “I get the feeling he’s used to bossing people around.”
“That’s an understatement,” Macy said. “He obviously inherited some of his aunt’s chutzpah. He was like a dog with a bone. But I managed to get rid of him.”
“You did?” Greer’s face fell. “Before you heard him out?”
“No.” Macy thought back to how stubborn she’d been about not eating with him at Fast and French. “I listened, but I said no to helping him.”
“Shoot.” Ella wore a wistful expression. “I was hoping we’d see him around the office.”
“Me too.” Miss Thing’s shiny brooch trembled as she gave a little shiver. “He was all man.”
Macy was irked, to be honest. Deacon Banks had won over her colleagues, big-time.
“So that’s that?” Greer asked, her tone heavy with disappointment.
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