Two in Winter (2 page)

“Well, Anna would have preferred not going dancing, but having a few drinks some place quiet so the three of us could catch up.”

“So, the redhead is Stacey. The brunette is Anna. The blonde who tastes like strawberry lip-gloss is…?”

Her head back, she laughed a throaty, sexy laugh. “I’m Getty.”

“Getty?” He raised a brow at the unusual name.

“Ugh, my parents gave me a strange old Norwegian name. A nickname was necessary for survival. So, I’m Getty.”

“Norwegian, yeah?” He felt his face brighten. “Me too. I’m Eric, by the way.”

“Well isn’t that just a nice normal name?” She smiled.

“Yeah, my parents tortured me too though—I have a twin sister named Erica. So, Getty.” He grinned, testing out the name. “If Anna is sulking about coming out dancing, do you think she’d mind if the five of us ditched the club and went for coffee instead?”

Surprise lit Getty’s face as she looked up at him. “She’d be annoyed at guys coming along on girls’ night, yeah, but since that ship has sailed, she’d probably enjoy coffee more than dancing.”

He grinned. “Did the three of you drive together?”

“We did. Where should we meet you guys?”

“Do you know the little diner on the corner of East and Third?” She nodded. “Open all night and they have awesome pie.” He dropped his voice to a stage whisper. “They even put lard in the crust, so you know it’s gonna be good.”

“Okay, lardy pie and diner coffee it is. I’ll go round up the girls.”

He followed her back inside, watching as her body seemed to sway with the beat a little more as they got inside where the music was loud and boisterous. He made his way over to the bar where Skip was whispering something in Stacey’s ear, her head thrown back in laughter. It looked likely his friend would get lucky tonight. He smiled and—ugh, he did that frat-boy nod again as he met Skip’s eye.

“Hey Eric, this is Stace-y and she’s a flight attendant. How cool is that?” Skip grinned.

“Hi, Stacey. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise, Eric.” She nodded. She had the kind of deep throaty voice that men wrote noir fiction about, but to Eric, it seemed rough and maybe even put-on after talking to her guileless friend.

“So, Stacey, I was dancing with your friend Getty and we thought maybe we’d go somewhere a little quieter. Do you guys want to join?”

“Cool.” Stacey turned to Skip and said something close to his ear. He bit his lip and closed his eyes before brushing a kiss over her cheekbone.

“Sounds good, Stace. See you there.”

Chapter 2

“Oh my God, Getty.” Stacey screeched at her the second they got in the car. “I can’t believe you, of all people, were making out with Dr. Delicious before you even found out his name.”

“Ha, ha.” Getty grinned at her friend as she slipped behind the wheel. “It was one kiss, it was hardly ‘making out’.” But she had to admit, it was a pretty steamy kiss. Eric had that whole tall, dark, and hot thing going for him. The way he had pulled her up against him on the dance floor, putting her right where he wanted her, it gave her the good kind of shivers.

“Too bad you’re just going to have coffee and say goodbye. You never shag the hot ones.” Anna smirked from the back seat.

“Fuck off, Anna. I never shag any of them. I don’t have time for that kind of relationship in my life.”

“If anyone needed a no-strings lay it would be you,” Anna replied, the not-so-subtle dig at Stacey plain in her voice. Getty looked at her friend in the rearview mirror and frowned. Anna had been in and out of a half dozen relationships in the last ten years, each of them lasting just long enough to think about getting serious and then she’d break it off. A serial monogamist. Sure Stacey seemed to have plenty of brief affairs, but she was always safe about it, so what business was it of Anna’s? It’s not like they were still roommates and Anna was having to deal with strangers in her house all the time. Maybe old habits died hard, but Getty wished Anna would start cutting Stace a little slack.

Getty, on the other hand, did not have affairs or relationships. She just didn’t have time. At least that’s what she told herself. For the last five years she’d been routinely profiled as one of the top forty professionals to watch under forty years old.

She owned a small clothing line: she took care of the business end of things while Anna designed the clothes. They were moderately successful, well represented in a variety of department stores, and the business was growing steadily and profitably.

But it wasn’t dark-humored designer Anna who had to do all those endless sales meetings where she told buyers all about their new lines. No, that was Getty’s job. Anna got to go to fashion week and give interviews about her muse while Getty busted ass to make sure the ready-to-wear lines would be in stores. It reaffirmed her plans to hire a sales manager so she could stay home more.

Getty, after all that work the last dozen years, was ready to have a life for herself outside of the office. At thirty-five, she wasn’t exactly getting any younger, and she hadn’t had a serious boyfriend in years. She wanted a family, wanted to be a mother. She didn’t have time to meet the perfect man and fall in love, so she was going to go it alone. Her mom and dad supported her and would be there to help her when she did need to travel. Her appointment next week had been set at the fertility clinic for three months. Next week, she’d start the search for a competent sales exec, and begin easing herself out of that part of the business.

“Earth to Getty,” Stacey intoned in her already deep alto voice. “You just passed the diner.”

“Shit. I’m sorry.” She frowned, looking for a spot to parallel park her BMW. “Lost in thought.”

“About the guy?”

“No, just stuff. Personal stuff. Let’s go have some lardy pie.” She flashed a grin as she put the car in park.

* * * *

Eric and his friend were already there, sitting at a large round booth. Smiling politely, Getty slid in next to Eric. His eyes were blue, she noticed, something that hadn’t been very clear in the club, but here in the well-lit diner they were startling. His brown hair was just a touch too long, just enough to make her fingers itch to touch it. When he’d kissed her in the club, she hadn’t been able to resist burying her hands in it, so she knew it would be soft to the touch.

“Hello again.” He smiled back at her and his eyes melted something in her.

Stacey was already practically in Skip’s lap, and Anna slid in next to Getty, disdain clear on her face as she glanced across at Stacey.

A waitress approached and took their order, leaving a carafe of coffee on the table. True to his word, Eric ordered pie—apple—and talked Getty into sharing it with him. Anna picked at a plate of french fries next to them. The conversation was light, and he made her laugh—a lot. Almost uncharacteristically so. Skip was funny too, and she found herself opening up to their banter. They’d talked about the dance club and popular music, steering clear of personal subjects until—

“So, Getty, you said you travel a lot for business? What do you do?” Eric’s intense eyes focused in on her.

“She makes sure I don’t starve.” Anna smiled for the first time that evening.

“Anna is a fashion designer. When we finished college, she wanted to start a clothing line. I sold the car my parents gave me for graduation to bankroll it. Now she’s writing her own ticket and I’ve made back my investment many times over.”

“Wow. That’s a pretty intense thing to do for a friend.” Eric seemed both suspicious and admiring. The look on his face put Getty immediately on the defensive. Her cheeks heated in indignation.
What is it about people that makes them think they can judge Anna like that?
Why did nobody ever understand that what she and Anna had was a partnership? She might own the company, but Anna was the one whose designs she was selling day in and day out.

“Without Anna, I’d have nothing,” she said. “I believed in her then and I believe in her now.” She smiled at her friend. “Everyone should have an Anna in their life.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that your business was one-sided. My apologies, Anna.” The look of contrition on Eric’s face was clear. Getty felt herself softening a bit. Time to change the subject.

“So what do you do?” She asked.

“I’m, um. I’m a doctor.” He looked uncomfortable for a moment.

Skip laughed. “Dude, for a guy who likes Dr. Who as much as you do, you need to take some cues from David Tennant on how to deliver that line.”

“Well, I’m not
the
Doctor, I’m
a
doctor.” Eric looked even more uncomfortable now.

“What specialty?” Getty asked.

“I’m a reproductive endocrinologist. I help people get pregnant.”

And just like that, Getty felt the warmth leave her face and tumble into her gut like last weeks’ garbage going from the curbie to the truck. She couldn’t be sitting here, flirting with a man, when she knew full well there was a possibility she’d be knocked up within the next month. Even knowing it was just a flirtation, knowing it couldn’t be more, was almost like cheating on her plans. Selfishly, she wished she could have held on to the illusion for a few more moments.

“Getty, are you okay?” Concern tugged his brows together.

“You know, I’m not feeling so hot. If you all will excuse me, I should go.” She fumbled with her keys, trying to pass them to Anna, who was looking at her as if she had three heads. “Here, you guys take my car, I’ll call a cab.”

“I’ll go with you,” Anna said. “Make sure you’re okay.” The look she gave Getty brooked no argument.

“I’ll give Stace a ride home, or call her a cab, whatever she prefers,” Skip murmured from somewhere in the neighborhood of Stacey’s neck.

“Wait a minute.” Eric jumped to his feet. “Just like that?” His expression was wounded.

“I—I’m sorry. It was really nice to meet you. I enjoyed the dance.” Getty forced herself to smile politely, though it felt more like a grimace. She couldn’t look at those gorgeous blue eyes. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

From the street, she looked over her shoulder once to see Eric still standing behind the table, eyes following her, his face looking like someone had just told him his dog had died. Getty knew exactly how he felt, only worse because it was her secret that was nipping this particular bud before it could bloom.

Chapter 3

“So, tell me about this girl you met Friday night,” Eric’s twin sister called from the kitchen. He was lying on his stomach putting together puzzles with his niece. He frowned, pretending he didn’t hear her.

“Yeah, Ewic. Tell.” The four-year-old looked at him, blue eyes serious.

“Erica, did you put her up to this?” he bellowed. Erica came out of the kitchen with a tall glass of ice water, which she handed to him before settling into a chair.

“Nossie is in a stage.” She raised an eyebrow. “So, c’mon, tell me.”

He maneuvered himself into a sitting position and looked at his sister, trying to decide how much to tell. To be perfectly honest, he couldn’t get Getty out of his mind. The way she’d been so hot on the dance floor, and then she just sort of froze up and took off on him when she found out what he did for a living. Sure there was some controversy surrounding fertility treatments, but he wasn’t ashamed of what he did. And she didn’t strike him as the type to get all religiously conflicted about helping people get pregnant.

“It’s nothing,” he answered finally.

“That look on your face isn’t nothing, Bub,” Erica said.

“Okay, she’s fu—freakin’—amazing-looking.” He blushed as he changed the word at the last moment, remembering his niece on the floor next to him. “She’s blonde, and tall, and she can really, really dance. I kissed her on the dance floor and it was beyond hot, but later, over coffee … she freaked out, and she left me with a half a plate of pie and no appetite.”

“Weird.” Erica looked at him in that intense way that made him feel like she was trying to read his mind. “Skip seems to think she really liked you. He says her friend said she was into you.”

“Why are you talking to Skip?” Eric looked sharply at his sister.

“I just wanted to know if he’d heard anything.” She fell silent, looking at Nossie. Eric didn’t need to ask, he could hear the pain in his sister’s voice.

Erica’s husband, Odie, had been missing for over a year. He’d been traveling in South America doing research for some art project, and he’d just stopped calling her. His phone went straight to voicemail at first, and then nothing. Fearing kidnapping, they’d expected a call from someone wanting ransom, but that call had never come. He’d just disappeared.

Skip was the one who had taken time off to go looking for him. He and Odie had been close friends, and Erica couldn’t get a passport for Nossie that quickly. He’d found nothing, and the government now had him listed as “missing, presumed dead,” but Erica hadn’t given up hope that someone would see the posters and call Skip.

“Erica…” Words clogged in his throat as he watched a tear catch the sunlight streaming in the window and turn golden as it fell into her lap. “I’m sorry.”

“I just wish he were here.” She sighed. “Nossie needs him. I need him.”

“I know.” He reached for his sister and she let him hug her for a moment.

“But we’re here to talk about you.” She pushed him back, swiping at her eyes. “And the girl with the weird name.”

“Getty.” He supplied the name, moving to sit on the couch. If he was going to be interrogated, he might as well get comfortable.

“Getty. So what did you say to Getty that made her get up and leave?”

“Nothing! Well, I think I sort of insulted—unintentionally, mind you—her business partner, then we changed the subject and I told her that I’m an RE, and she freaked and left, said she wasn’t feeling well. I never would have pegged a girl who rubs her ass on a guy she just met for one of those people who thinks fertility treatments are evil.”

“Language, Eric.” His sister shot a glance at Nossie.

“Sorry.”

“Maybe it was the mention of pregnancy that wigged her out. Some people just can’t deal with that stuff as casual conversation. Or maybe she really did feel sick. Who knows.”