Three Little Words (12 page)

“You are so strange. Would you also expect me to cook the eggs and bacon?”

“No, but it would be nice if you did.”

“You do realize you have your own kitchen upstairs, right? You could buy your own eggs and bacon and fix them yourself.”

He leaned back in the chair. “It’s better here.”

“I thought macho SEALs liked to be alone. That you were all so solitary.”

“No. We’re pack animals. Work in a team. Hang out together.”

She hadn’t thought of it that way, but understood what he was saying. “So now that we’re fake-dating, I’m in your pack?”

He offered her that sexy smile of his. “Every woman’s dream.”

If he hadn’t made her tremble and want for the first time in her life, she would have laughed at him. But as it was, she could only turn away and wonder if there was a polite way to ask him to repeat the kissing thing. Just so she could confirm it wasn’t a fluke.

He poured them cereal, then picked up a banana and sliced half of it into each bowl. Last he added milk.

“What if I didn’t like bananas?” she asked, sitting next to him.

“Then you wouldn’t have bought it.”

She sighed. “You have an answer for everything.”

“Sure. If I don’t know it, I make it up. You gotta keep moving forward. Otherwise whatever’s coming up at you from behind will catch up.”

She reached for her spoon. Ford had showered and shaved that morning. He’d pulled on a T-shirt over jeans, but his feet were bare. There was something a little sexy about sitting with him like this. Over breakfast.

The memory of the kiss hovered between them—an erotic specter. She was sure the moment had happened. After all, she’d been there. She’d felt tingles and zips and that all-important hunger. The sensations were new and heady and just a little scary.

She had a feeling her friends would tell her it was chemistry and that she should always embrace the quiver when she was with a guy. But what if that was all there was? What if the longing was her peak experience? She supposed, in her heart, she worried that she wasn’t like everyone else.

“What are you thinking?” he asked unexpectedly.

She put down her spoon and went for a version of the truth. “Sometimes I wonder if I should have known about Eric. The gay thing.”

“He wasn’t admitting it to himself. Why should you have it all figured out? He said he loved you and wanted to marry you. You believed him. It’s his bad, not yours.”

“You make it all so simple.”

“I’m a simple kind of guy.”

“Your fake-girlfriend plan is more than a little complicated. How long are we doing that, by the way?”

“I don’t know. Awhile. Then we can break up and I’ll be crushed.” He grinned, then scooped up more cereal. “You’re moving to New York, so maybe we could date until then. That’s a long time with my mom off my back.”

It was a long time to be around Ford, she thought. There might be unexpected dangers. At least for her. She liked him and she liked being with him. Wasn’t that how real relationships started?

“At some point you need to be able to tell your mother the truth.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You can’t spend the rest of your life lying to her.”

She expected a snappy comeback, but instead his humor faded. “She won’t believe the truth.”

“Which is?”

“I’m never going to get married because I’m never going to fall in love. I can’t. Or won’t. I’ve met some great women who were in love with me. But the second they admitted their feelings, I was gone. I couldn’t picture myself with them in two years, let alone fifty. I have no interest in anything long-term. Not now, not ever.”

“You wanted to marry Maeve.”

“I was young and figured we were supposed to get married. Don’t forget how fast I got over her. That wasn’t love.”

“Maybe that wasn’t but you’re not giving yourself a chance. You haven’t met the right person.” She believed in love even if he didn’t. One day Ford would lose his heart.

For a second, she thought about making a joke about it, only to realize she didn’t like the idea of him falling for someone else. Not that she was interested in him that way, but was just...

She paused, unable to come up with an explanation.

“There’s something missing in me,” he said. “Something I don’t get.” He shrugged. “I like women. I like being around them, but picking one and staying with her forever? I don’t see it happening.”

* * *

C
LASSES
STARTED
IN
the morning. The information was right on the sign out front of the Fool’s Gold High School. Consuelo could see it from where she stood on the sidewalk.

She hated apologizing even more than she hated being wrong. She hated being unsure and feeling stupid and a thousand other things that had nothing to do with why she was standing here.

She’d done it again. Walked away because she was afraid. Walked away from the nicest man she’d ever met because when she was around him she couldn’t breathe.

She forced herself up the stairs and into the school. The polite lady in the office gave her Kent’s room number and then pointed the way. Consuelo walked in that direction, still not sure what she was going to say.

She hadn’t been able to sleep in two days and yesterday she’d spent an hour sparring with Angel. He’d finally collapsed on the mats, gasping for mercy, but she hadn’t been done. She’d climbed ropes and finished with an eight-mile run. Even so, she’d spent much of the night staring at the ceiling.

It was all so ridiculous, she thought. The fear and her reasons for it. A man had asked her out and she’d run off like a frightened puppy.

She found the room in question. The door was open and Kent sat alone at the desk in front. She watched him for a few seconds, taking in the concentration as he looked from his computer to the screen behind him. A PowerPoint presentation flipped from slide to slide. No doubt he was preparing for when classes started.

The man wore a tie, she thought, not sure if she should laugh or whimper. A tie and rolled-up shirtsleeves, with jeans. The combination was sexy and appealing and she both wanted him and needed to head in the opposite direction equally. Before she could decide what to do, he looked up and saw her.

“Consuelo.”

That was all he said. Her name. Just like that. No hint of what he was thinking, no anger or frustration or disinterest.

She stepped into the room and walked toward him.

She’d dressed specifically for the occasion in her favorite cargo pants, an army-green tank and combat boots. She wore no makeup and had pulled her hair back into a tight ponytail. This was her at her core. She needed him to see that, mostly so he would understand she wasn’t trying to be different. It, in fact, came naturally.

He rose as she approached. Of course he would. The man was polite.

“How can I help you?” he asked.

“You can’t. That’s what I came to tell you. I’m sorry about what happened at the festival. I
did
want to go to the concert. I wanted to a lot, but I didn’t know how.”

He frowned slightly. “Concerts aren’t usually tough. You, uh, sit and listen to music. There’s not a lot of interaction. Sometimes during the ballads you hold up your phone like a light. My mom swears that when she was a teenager, people held up lighters and lit matches. Sounds like a fire hazard to me.”

Despite everything, she started to laugh; then the laugh broke off into silence and she was fighting tears.

What the fuck?
She didn’t cry. She mocked the criers. She was tough. She was—

Strong arms came around her and pulled her close. She found herself held. Gently, without force. She could have broken free easily. A soft, low voice promised everything would be fine.

Large hands stroked her back, but in a comforting way. He didn’t try to touch her butt or cop a feel. Instead Kent was, once again, the perfect gentleman.

She jerked free and glared at him. “I’m not like other women you’ve dated.”

One eyebrow rose. “Which ones?”

“Anyone. Pick one. I’m not like them, those women out there.” She pointed to the windows. “I’m not from here.”

“Okay,” he said slowly. “By ‘here’ I assume you mean Fool’s Gold. Or the suburbs. As opposed to, say, earth.”

She wiped her cheeks. “I’m not a space alien.”

“Good, because I’m not a fan of interspecies dating.”

“How can you want to go out with me?” she demanded. “I’m a mess. I’m doing it wrong.” She remembered all the reasons men usually wanted to spend time with her. “Unless this is about getting laid.”

“It’s not.”

She stared at him, wanting to believe.

He gave her a rueful smile. “It’s not
just
about that. Because, hey, what guy wouldn’t want you?”

“Do you know what I did in the military?” she asked, then kept talking because she had to tell him now while she had the courage. “I killed people. I wasn’t a sniper, Kent. There were no long-range rifles. When I did it, it was personal. Up close.” She felt her hands curling into fists.

“You don’t need this mess,” she told him quietly. “I’m sorry. That’s what I wanted to say. I’m sorry. You must know that it’s a good idea for you to stay away from me.”

His dark gaze never strayed from her face. “Have you talked to anyone?” he asked gently. “A counselor?”

Her chin shot up. “You think there’s something wrong with me?”

“I think you’re in a lot of pain.”

Words she’d heard before in the safe confines of a therapist’s office. “I see someone,” she said. “Once a week, in Sacramento.” She managed a slight smile. “I’m getting better. Imagine if we’d met six months ago.”

“I still would have asked you to that concert.”

“I probably would have gutted you like a fish.”

“Police Chief Alice Barns doesn’t take kindly to that sort of thing.”

“I’m more afraid of you.”

Words she hadn’t meant to say, but it was too late to call them back now.

“I don’t scare anyone.”

“You do me. You’re nice.”

He winced. “Great.”

“No, I mean it. You’re kind and funny and a good dad. Jeez, Kent, why are you bothering with me?”

“You have attitude. Reese likes you and he’s a good judge of character. You frighten my brother.” One corner of his mouth turned up. “And yes, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life. Guys are visual—I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” She liked that he found her attractive. At least that was something. “I’d really like to go to a concert with you.”

“Sorry, but the band is gone. Would you settle for dinner?”

She nodded.

“At my house,” he continued. “Reese will be there. It’s not a date. It’s me inviting my son’s martial arts instructor over. We’ll never be alone. How does that sound?”

“Nice,” she said.

He grimaced. “I’m cursed.”

“Don’t say that. You’re the dream.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, right.”

He didn’t believe her, which was okay. She knew it was true.

CHAPTER EIGHT

A
S
I
SABEL
UNPACKED
dresses and hung them, she thought about what Ford had claimed. That he’d never been in love. The idea seemed impossible. He was so charming and fun—women must have fallen for him. Which was what he’d said. But he’d never reciprocated their feelings.

Not to fall in love. How sad, she thought, only she wasn’t sure she was any different. Look at her disaster of a marriage. Was that romantic love? Certainly not on Eric’s side and she was having doubts about her own feelings.

Isabel shook off the thoughts and finished unpacking the dresses. There were six in all. Two samples and four orders. She would let the dresses hang out overnight, then start pressing them in the morning.

As she worked, she glanced at the phone. She’d left two messages for Sonia and had yet to hear from her.

Isabel threw out the packing material and flattened the boxes for the recycling bin, then returned to the front of the store. A few minutes after one, a woman walked in, carrying a garment bag.

“Hi,” the twentysomething said with a smile. “I don’t know if you remember me, Isabel. We were in school together years ago.”

Isabel stared at the brown-eyed brunette. She was about five-five, with pretty features. Memories flashed through her brain as she remembered a girl with two younger sisters whose parents had died in a car crash.

“Dellina?”

Dellina’s smile broadened. “That’s me. I wasn’t sure you’d remember.”

“Of course I do. How are you?”

Dellina put down the garment bag and they hugged.

“I’m good,” the other woman said. “Busy. My sisters are doing well.”

Isabel remembered that Dellina had younger sisters. Twins, she thought.

“I’ve spent the past few years getting them settled,” Dellina said. “They’re doing great now and I’m focusing on my business. I’m doing party planning and decorating in town.”

Isabel nodded slowly. “I heard about that. You were in charge of Charlie and Clay’s wedding a couple of months ago. It was great. The luau was so much fun and everyone was surprised.”

“Thanks. Charlie had to be sold on that idea, but it turned out well.”

“Come on,” Isabel said, motioning for her to follow her. “Let’s grab a seat and catch up.”

They sat in the plush chairs by the mirrors the brides used. Isabel was able to see if anyone walked in the store while she chatted with her friend.

“You’ve been in New York,” Dellina said. “Impressive.”

“Less impressive than you’d think,” Isabel admitted. She briefly explained about her divorce. “So this is a bit of a change.”

“It would be. I keep telling myself I have to pick. Either party planning or interior decorating. In a way, they’re both about staging, which I like. But I can’t decide and there’s not enough business in town for me to give up one. So for now, it’s both.” She grinned. “And possibly a third challenge. Let me show you what I’ve brought.”

She picked up the garment bag, then unzipped the sides. Two dresses hung from hangers. The first was black and royal-blue, with a scoop neck. The sleeves and sides were black, while the center of the dress was blue. Gathers pulled in the garment around the waist.

Isabel saw right away how the style would create the illusion of being smaller than you were in any size. The fabric was substantial without being heavy, and the dress itself was ageless. It could be accessorized to go from day to night easily.

The other dress was just as intriguing. There was also a jacket with a pair of black pants.

“I love them,” she admitted, seeing possibilities for both using them in a display and wearing them herself. She mentally ran through her shoe collection and found at least three pairs that would work with each outfit.

“A friend of mine designs them,” Dellina told her. “She’s too shy to sell them herself and I couldn’t stand to see them just hanging in her spare room, so I took them. These are samples of her work. I thought maybe you could display them here.”

How could she? Paper Moon sold wedding gowns and dresses for bridesmaids and mothers of the bride. Not clothes a woman could wear to work.

She started to say no, only she couldn’t seem to form the word. Her gaze drifted to the display window on the north side of the store. It was too small for a wedding gown, so they’d always used it for prom dresses or accessories.

If she pulled out the fabric background, the walls were stark white. Usually too harsh for her purposes, but the plain backdrop would highlight the clothes.

“Over here,” she said impulsively. “In this window.”

Dellina draped the clothes over a chair and followed her.

They quickly removed the shoes and veils. Isabel unhooked the pale pink, fabric-covered board that covered the back of the display window and the two of them wrestled it out into the storeroom.

“I have two spare mannequins,” Isabel said, then pointed. There was a slim brass coatrack in the corner. “We could hang the third dress from that.”

“It’s perfect.” Dellina studied the two mannequins. “Can we take their heads off? The look would be cleaner.”

“And slightly creepier,” Isabel said with a laugh. But she saw what the other woman meant. “Let’s try it.”

She reached for the mannequin, then stopped. “Wait a minute. I can’t do this. I’m not staying.”

Dellina stared at her. “I don’t understand. Am I keeping you from an appointment? I can come back.”

“No. It’s the store. We’re selling it. After the first of the year.”

Dellina’s eyes widened with shock. “You’re selling Paper Moon? But it’s been in Fool’s Gold forever.”

Not the first time Isabel had heard that statement, she thought grimly.

“What are these?” Madeline asked, walking into the back room. “Did you go shopping? Where did you get the jacket? I love it. And this dress.”

She held up the purple one.

“Dellina’s friend designed them,” Isabel said. “Do you two know each other?”

“Sure,” Dellina said. “Those are Margo’s designs.”

Madeline sighed. “You said she was great, but I’ve only heard about the designs.” Her expression brightened. “Are you going to carry them here at the store? Will you offer an employee discount?”

“I was telling her about the family selling Paper Moon after the first of the year,” Isabel said.

Madeline shook her head. “Don’t talk about that. I finally found a job I love.”

“I’m sure the new owners will want to keep you on,” Isabel told her, determined to put in a good word for her employee. “Besides, that’s months away.”

She looked from the clothes Madeline held, back to the window. “I’m not going to worry about the fate of the store right now. Dellina, if you want to put your friend’s clothes in the window, you can. If someone wants to buy them, we’ll figure out what we’re doing then.”

Dellina grinned. “I agree.”

She and Madeline started dressing the two mannequins. Isabel left them to it and went to the front of the store. When they were ready, she would go out and check the display from the sidewalk.

This was good experience, she told herself. For when she and Sonia opened their own business. Retail was a different world, and selling original designs was even more specialized than wedding gowns.

Isabel picked up the price sheet Dellina had brought with her. It listed the inventory Margo had in her house and how long it would take to make a dress in a size other than what she had on hand. She could—

The front door to Paper Moon opened. Isabel looked up and smiled automatically. It was only when she recognized the other woman that her smile became a little forced and her throat got dry and tight.

Denise Hendrix looked around the store, spotted her and headed directly over.

Ford’s mother didn’t bother with a lot of chitchat, but instead went right to the heart of the matter.

“Are you really dating my son?”

* * *

F
ORD
OPENED
THE
REFRIGERATOR
,
then handed Isabel a diet soda. She took the can but didn’t open it.

“You don’t understand,” she repeated, glaring at him. “I had to lie to your mother.”

“I know. You’ve told me.” More than once. “You knew what we were doing when you agreed.”

She slapped his upper arm. “Knowing and experiencing are two different things. She was there, in my store, looking at me. I had to stare into her trusting eyes and lie. Do you know what that was like?”

“Yes,” he admitted, ignoring the sensation of his collar getting tight. After all, he was in a T-shirt. He didn’t have a collar.

Isabel shook her head. “It was so horrible. The way she watched me. It’s like she knew I was lying.”

“She didn’t know. My mom raised six kids. She does guilt the way other people breathe.” He put his arm around her. “Come on. We’ll talk this out and you’ll feel better.”

She stepped out of his embrace. “Being charming isn’t going to help.”

“It might.” He was good at charm. “Look, Isabel, I’m doing the best I can. You think I like this? I agree—everything would be a whole lot simpler if I could just fall in love. But I can’t.”

She didn’t look convinced. “Have you tried?”

“Yes. I come from a long line of happy marriages. I don’t have any serious emotional trauma in my past. I like women. I don’t know what’s wrong with me and I’m sorry for putting you in this position.”

Her gaze held his for a long time before she nodded. “Fine,” she said with a sigh and popped the top on her can of soda. “I know you’re not torturing me on purpose. It was just icky.”

“I know. I owe you.”

“More than you know. Your mother invited us over to a big family dinner.”

“I’ll delay as long as I can.”

“You’d better.” Her mouth twisted.

Oddly, her discomfort made him like her more. She was an honest person and it troubled her to be deceptive. This situation was his fault.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised.

“Yeah? I’m thinking the only way that’s going to happen is if you learn how to iron a wedding gown.”

* * *

“W
HY
DO
I
FEEL
guilty?” Noelle asked, glancing uneasily over her shoulder.

“Because Jo has us all trained.” Charlie squared her shoulders, as if determined not to give in to the pressure. “We aren’t
required
to go to her bar for lunch every time. It’s good to support all the businesses in Fool’s Gold.”

Isabel grinned. “Keep saying that, and maybe it will be true one day.”

They were all in line by a gleaming silver trailer that had been converted to a rolling kitchen. Delicious smells wafted from the windows, and the chalkboard hanging by the open front door offered many tempting choices.

Ana Raquel, Dellina’s younger sister, ran the “street cart,” as it was known. She planned the menus and did all the cooking in her small trailer. Today she’d parked by Pyrite Park, opened all the windows and the door and fired up her stove. The amazing smells had drawn a crowd of hungry customers.

“You’re helping a friend,” Dellina said firmly. “My sister needs the support. If Jo asks, that’s what you tell her.”

“If you say so,” Noelle murmured, still sounding doubtful.

Isabel was less afraid of Jo than the others. Maybe because her time in Fool’s Gold was temporary and she didn’t have to worry about being cut off from one of the town’s best locales. She looked at the hand-printed lettering on the chalkboard and felt her mouth starting to water.

There were sandwiches and burgers, but with ingredients like fresh basil and goat cheese, or watermelon-and-jalapeno puree. The red wine with summer vegetables risotto had a star by it, indicating a more “special” special. Caprese Pasta Salad with Balsamic Chicken. And the dessert of the day was Picnic S’Mores Bars and Fun Apple Fritters with Caramel Dipping Sauce.

“I’m gaining five pounds just looking at the menu,” Patience said. “I can’t decide between the grilled cheese, pear-and-prosciutto sandwich and the fajita quesadilla.”

“I’m getting a burger and the S’Mores Bars,” Charlie said flatly. “Don’t try to talk me out of it and don’t expect to share.”

Felicia glanced at her. “Possessiveness about food is an unusual characteristic for you,” she observed. “Do you think it’s caused by your cycle or some other hormonal imbalance?”

Charlie turned slowly and glared at her. “You did not just ask about my period.”

Felicia held her ground. “Was that inappropriate? I wasn’t trying to pry.”

Charlie relented with a sigh. “I know. Sorry. I just have a thing for S’Mores. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I understand,” Felicia told her kindly. “Many of our unhealthy obsessions with food can be traced back to early childhood.”