Set Up in SoHo (The Matchmaker Chronicles) (33 page)

“I was talking about something that happened twenty years ago. You and Ethan . . .”

“Althea ...” I crossed my arms, glaring at her.

“But I was only—”

“Trying to help?” We both broke into laughter, and suddenly the whole world seemed brighter. Out of all the bad something intrinsically good had arisen. I’d found my mother. My real mother. And the funny thing was, she’d been right here under my nose the whole time. Sometimes one really can’t see the trees for the forest. Or however that goes.

“All right,” my mother said, still smiling. “I promise. No more meddling.”

It was a brave statement. And I think in her own way she probably meant it. At least in that moment.

But I knew better.

Some things just aren’t that easy to change.

Chapter 26

New York in the springtime is like a beautiful reawakening. Especially after a rain. Blustery winds and gray clouds give way to budding branches and bright blue sky, everything smelling fresh and sweet.

And there’s no prettier place, in my opinion, than the Ramble in Central Park. The long winding paths are the perfect place for thinking. And, eventually, when you spill out onto the far side of the boat pond, it’s almost like walking into a postcard. Rowboats idyllically bob in the pond as pedestrians amble along rain-washed pathways, the soft hollow wail of a saxophone carried on the breeze.

Althea had worked her magic. It had taken a bit of persuasion, but Philip DuBois had agreed to do the show. I still wasn’t sure that we wouldn’t have been better off just forgetting the whole thing, but in some weird kind of way I think talking to him had given her closure. And Cassie and Clinton were over the moon.

Cassie had taken the news to the big guns and word was that we had the inside track on the prime time special.

Don’t get me wrong—I was really happy about the show—but funnily, it didn’t seem to matter as much as it had a month ago. Shifting priorities, I suppose. Anyway, we were all celebrating tonight. Althea’s treat. Craft. Which, as I’ve already noted, has the most amazing food. But before facing my friends, I’d wanted a little time on my own. And so I’d left Althea’s and headed for the park.

So much had changed. Not the least of which was me. I had been so certain that I knew what I wanted in life. That I had a handle on where I was going and where I’d been. Turns out I didn’t have a clue. Everything had been based on a version of my life that didn’t actually exist.

I’d spent years rejecting everything Althea stood for. And now, it turned out, she was my true north. I’d spent my whole life chasing after an image of my mother. An ideal I’d created of a free spirit. And yet, in the end, it turned out that she’d simply been running away. Hiding from reality. Pretending that mistakes she’d made didn’t exist.

Mistakes like me.

But Althea had stepped in. She’d loved and protected me. And driven me insane. Pretty much the definition of a mother. Right?

Only I’d refused to see it, clinging instead to a fairy-tale person who didn’t exist. Trying to emulate her. When in reality I wasn’t anything like her at all. Real or imagined.

I’d chosen Dillon because he seemed to embody the ideal I sought. But I’d lied to myself. Pretended I wanted the same things he did. When in truth, I yearned for stability. For a family. For a place where I truly belonged.

Then Ethan had come along and, despite all my misguided notions, he’d showed me what life could be like when someone really cared. Only I’d thrown it all away with my preconceived judgments and overreactions. Not to mention the horizontal pity party with my ex.

I’d been afraid. Pure and simple.

And so I’d blown my chance at happiness by refusing to see it for what it really was.

I sighed and settled down on a bench by the edge of the water, just as my cell rang. I pulled out the phone, my heart quickening. Maybe . . .

It was Bethany.

“Hey there,” I said, swallowing my disappointment. “I was wondering when I’d hear from you. I’ve been leaving messages.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve had my phone turned off. I’ve been with Michael.”

“So tell me?” I asked, holding my breath, praying for a positive answer.

“Everything is great. I finally convinced him that I didn’t want to break up. That I was just scared about moving in. Anyway, he’s willing to give it another try. So I guess that means we’re officially back together again.”

“That’s wonderful,” I said. “Honestly, Bethany, I’m so happy for you.”

“Thank you. I can’t quite believe it myself. But I never would have gone to talk to him if it hadn’t been for you. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were turning into Althea.”

Twenty-four hours ago, that comment would have pissed me off. But now—well, amazingly, it felt like a compliment. Not that I was going into the family business, mind you. “I’m just glad it worked out. You and Michael belong together.”

“I wasn’t sure I should tell you. I mean, I wanted you to know, but under the circumstances I thought. . .” She paused, her voice hesitant.

“That I couldn’t deal,” I finished for her. “I can see why you’d think that. But you’re wrong. I couldn’t stand not knowing how things turned out. That’s one of the reasons I’ve been leaving messages every five minutes.”

“Well, it’s all wonderful,” she gushed. “In fact, we’re even revisiting the idea of moving in together.”

“That’s huge.”

“I know. But I’m working off what you said. That we have to grab on to chance when it comes by. Anyway, enough about me. What about you? Last time we talked you were off to wring Althea’s neck.”

“Fortunately for me, she didn’t answer her cell,” I said, laughing at the thought. “I’m sure I would have just said something I regretted. Anyway, since she wasn’t around, I decided to try Harriet’s and wound up talking to Bernie instead.”

“Always the voice of reason.”

“More than you’ll ever know. She gave me a lot to think about, and, as a result, I wound up having a long talk with Althea.”

“For the good, I hope.”

“I think so. But it’s too long a story to tell you over the phone. I’ll save it for when we’re together. Which brings me to the other reason I called. I actually have some good news. Philip DuBois agreed to do the show.”

“You’re kidding? That’s great.”

“I know. And even more amazing, it’s all Althea’s doing. Anyway, she’s taking Clinton, Cassie, and me out to celebrate. And I wanted you to come, too.”

“If it were any other night, I’d be there in a second, but—”

“You have plans with Michael.”

“Yeah,” she said. “We just need a little time for ourselves. Is that okay?”

“Of course. I totally understand.”

“And you’re certain you’re all right?” she asked, her tone worried. “I can change my plans.”

“You’re sweet to offer. But it’s not necessary. If I sound a little off it’s only because I’m still dealing with the fallout from everything that’s happened. But I promise, I’m going to be okay.”

And for the first time since falling down the rabbit hole, I actually believed it was true. I might not have gotten a perfect ending. But it was definitely a new beginning. And that had to count for something.

“You’re sure?” Bethany asked, still sounding unconvinced.

“Yes. I am,” I assured her. “Now go. Be with Michael. We’ll talk later.”

I disconnected and then slid my phone back in my pocket with a sigh. Althea had been right again. Bethany and Michael belonged together. They completed each other in a way that I couldn’t possibly have seen—until now.

I closed my eyes, content in the moment. The soft breeze caressed my skin as the sun beat warm upon my face. Sometimes joy was found in the smallest of pleasures.

“Is this seat taken?”

Like the voice of someone we love.

“No, I. . . no,” I said, our gazes colliding as I opened my eyes.

Ethan was here. Right here.

Standing beside me.

In the flesh. As if I’d just conjured him up from my imagination.

“Please,” I stuttered, struggling for words, “sit down.”

He sat next to me on the bench as I tried to sort through my agitated thoughts. “How did you know I was here?” I asked, as if I didn’t already know the answer.

“Althea,” he said.

I nodded. “She has a way of sticking her nose in.”

“Hopefully where it’s wanted?” Ethan sounded so tentative, my heart actually skipped a beat.

“Definitely.” I nodded, certain that we weren’t talking about Althea anymore. “I … Oh, God, Ethan, I’m so sorry. I never should have…the things I said…I…”

“You had good reason,” he said, a muscle in his jaw working overtime. “None of this would have happened if I had just told the truth. I never should have let you believe that our meeting in the park was an accident. I should have come clean about Althea’s involvement from the very beginning.”

“She said it was your idea. Our getting together, I mean.”

“It was. In fact, as I recall, I was quite insistent about it.”

“That’s pretty much what she told me.”

“Well, it’s the truth. I just wanted to be careful about how I handled things. My timing wasn’t the best. What with everything that had happened. I didn’t want you to think I was taking advantage.”

“Actually,” I said, “I was just thinking that sometimes we have to grab on to opportunity when it presents itself. No matter the circumstances. Anyway, I certainly didn’t make things easy. I second-guessed our relationship every step of the way. And when I found out about the setup, I immediately jumped to all the wrong conclusions. I should have known that Diana wasn’t telling the whole truth.”

“We’ve both made mistakes.”

“Some more unforgivable than others,” I said, watching the rowboats glide by. “I didn’t mean to...at least I don’t remember... I shouldn’t have slept with Dillon. It was stupid. And I’m so sorry.”

“Andi,” Ethan said, reaching over to cover my hand, “it’s okay—”

“No, it’s not. It’s horrible. But it didn’t mean anything. I don’t want Dillon. I want you.” The words came out of their own accord and I stopped, horrified at what I’d just admitted.

“Sweetheart,” Ethan said, his hand covering mine, the endearment making my heart flutter so rapidly I thought it might actually take flight, “you didn’t sleep with Dillon.”

“I didn’t?” Hope like some stupid neon light blinked in syncopated rhythm with my heart.

“No. You didn’t.”

“But how, I mean …you can’t possibly ...” I trailed off, apparently totally incapable of coherent thought.

“Dillon told me.”

“You spoke with him?” Talk about a crazy shift in the cosmic existence.

“He was worried about you. And about what I’d think. So he called to tell me that nothing happened. He apparently tried to tell you, but you were too busy throwing him out to listen.”

“That seems to be my modus operandi of late.”

“It’s one of the things I find most charming about you.”

“Really?” I said, chewing on the side of my lip. “I thought it was my worst fault.”

“Well, sometimes it’s a bit of both.” He shrugged with a crooked smile. “So, tell me, did you really mean it? The part about wanting me?”

“I did.” I was back to nodding. The man was going to think I was a bobble head.

“Well, then,” he said, lacing his fingers with mine, “what do you say we give it another try?”

“Yes,” I said, certain that in this moment anything was possible. “Definitely yes.”

He leaned forward, I closed my eyes, and—well, that’s really none of your business, is it? Let’s just say it was absolutely perfect, and that when I opened my eyes, Ethan was smiling, the sun was shining, and somewhere out there Althea was probably doing handstands.

“You know, of course,” he said as I snuggled into his arms, “now that we’re giving it a go, Althea will probably expect me to pay for the match.”

“No worries,” I said, smiling up at him. “I’ll be more than happy to write that check.”

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Set Up in SoHo
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An excerpt from
A Match Made on Madison
(the first book in The Matchmaker Chronicles)

Bemelmans Bar.
The Carlyle Hotel, 35 East Seventy-sixth Street (corner of Madison Avenue), 212.744.1600.

Best remembered as the creator of the classic Madeline books for children, Ludwig Bemelmans once joked he’d like his tombstone to read: “Tell Them It Was Wonderful.” Well, wonderful it was, and still is, at Bemelmans Bar. Named in honor of the legendary artist, Bemelmans is a timeless New York watering hole that has drawn socialites, politicians, movie stars, and moguls for more than five decades.

—www.thecarlyle.com

∞∞∞

"Another round please.” I signaled the tuxedo-clad waiter with an impervious twist of my hand, the gesture undoubtedly not nearly as regal as I supposed. But then dirty martinis will do that to you. Two is really the limit even for the most dedicated of drinkers. And we’d already had three.

But this was a celebration.