What a Girl Wants (8 page)

“Yes you do.” She patted his chest. “Now answer your phone.”

“Why—”

His cellphone buzzed with an incoming call from his cousin Viola. He pulled it out, staring after a smug-looking Esme as she continued down the street.

“Weird,” he murmured, picking up the call. “You’ll never guess what just happened.”

“You found the woman of your dreams?” Viola said.

He thought of Ariana and felt a glimmer of hope. “If that happened¸ don’t you think I’d call you right away?”

“I’d hope so. I don’t want you to think you can dismiss me now that I’m great with child.”

He grinned as he headed toward the wine shop. Viola was only a few months along, her baby bump barely noticeable. “The only thing you’re great with is success and love,” he told her.

“I’m fairly lucky, aren’t I?” she said softly. “But I didn’t call to talk about me. How’s San Francisco?”

He looked around, his gaze catching on the optometrist shop across the street with the Barbie dolls hanging by nooses in the window. “It’s colorful.”

“Is that good, or bad?”

“I’ll let you know when I decide.” He checked his watch. “Listen, I have a meeting with a small business owner in a few minutes. Can I call you back later?”

“Of course. Is this the woman whose father called in the favor?”

“No, a different business owner.” He didn’t mention that he was meeting this George person for Ariana—no telling how Viola would take that. “I might be able to help him expand his business.”

“It’s what you love,” his cousin said. “Helping small businesses flourish.”

He rubbed his chin. “That’s true.”

“It bears pondering, doesn’t it? Okay, go be productive.” Viola sighed. “My baby is demanding that we nap.”

“Kiss Chloe for me. And Finn,” he added, grinning as he pictured Viola’s husband’s expression if he tried to kiss him.

She laughed. “I miss you, darling. Be well.”

He hung up, smiling, and walked into In Vino Veritas. It doubled both as a store and a wine bar. At five o’clock, there were a number of people shopping as well as several sitting at tables enjoying glasses of wine.

Sebastian went to the small bar top close to the register and sat down to wait for Ariana’s friend. Ariana had told him George would meet him there at five.

He knew what Ariana was up to by suggesting he help her friend attract more clientele. She wasn’t fooling anyone with her ploy.

What Ariana didn’t know was that he’d called the garage and talked to a woman about bringing his car in. No, he didn’t have one, and that was a good thing because he’d be out of luck if he did. She told him the garage was booked for the next several weeks but that she could put him on the waitlist.

A mechanic’s shop had to be doing well to have a waitlist.

He looked around while he waited for someone to help him. This place was certainly different from Goddess of the Night, the bar he and his cousins frequented in London. Goddess of the Night had been swanky; In Vino Veritas reminded him of a neighborhood enoteca in Italy.

A woman wearing a tight black dress came over. She had dark curly hair and a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, as though she were holding her good graces in reserve until he proved himself.

“I’m only serving champagne today,” she said, the challenge implicit.

“Then I’d love a glass.” His cousins had taught him to be wary of challenges from strong-willed women.

“Smart man.” She smiled like she meant it as she took a glass down from the shelf behind her. As she poured, she gave him a once-over. “Are you visiting, or have you just moved here?”

“Do I look foreign?”

“Yeah, but you sound more foreign than you look.” The corner of her mouth quirked as she slid the glass across the counter to him. “New York?”

“Good call.” He raised the glass to toast her.

“It wasn’t exactly difficult.” She winked at him and then went to take care of someone else at the end of the shop.

He sipped the bubbles. Champagne wasn’t his drink, but it reminded him of his cousins and that made him happy.

The door behind him burst open, letting in a stream of light. Before he could turn around a woman plopped herself on the stool next to him. She wore a grease-stained onesie that had the name George embroidered on it in red. Her red hair was in a ponytail topped by a baseball cap that couldn’t contain the curly wisps escaping the sides. She looked him up and down with a glare. “You’re Sebastian,” she said, her tone all accusation.

He grinned—he couldn’t help it. George was a girl. “If I try to shake your hand, will you bite me?”

“Maybe.” But the corner of her lips twitched as she held out her hand. “George Connolly.”

“You’re less hairy than the last George I met,” he said as he shook her hand.

“Don’t bother. I’ve heard it all.” She poked a finger in his chest. “And if you call me Georgina, I’ll kick you in the balls.”

“Duly noted,” he said, more amused than he had been in a long time. Maybe he’d have some fun with this after all. “So you’re looking to increase your business?”

She nodded at the woman who ran the shop. “Bronwyn, can I have a glass of red? Something full-bodied?”

“I’ve got the perfect thing,” the woman said. She took a glass down, poured some champagne, and set it in front of them.

“Just what I wanted.” George rolled her eyes. Then she faced him. “You and I both know that’s bullshit, so why don’t we just call this what it is.”

“What is it?”

“Keeping your enemies close.” Grinning evilly, she held up her bubbles.

“I like you, George.” He clinked his glass to hers. “So tell me about Ariana.”

Her eyes narrowed the way he imagined a mama bear would on a stranger approaching her cub. “Why?”

Because he liked her. Because she intrigued him. Because she smelled like holidays and presents. Because she turned him on. “Because I’m supposed to help her increase her business.”

“Pfft.” George waved her hand. “Not gonna happen. That’s the last thing she wants.”

“What’s the first thing?”

George made a face. “Actually, I don’t know. She’s always so zen and shit. She likes making people feel good.”

“Letting me help her would make her dad feel good.”

“Yeah, but it’s not how she wants to live.”

“Have you ever used her products?”

“Hell yeah. They’re awesome.” She held her hands out. “Look at my cuticles. They’re healthy because of Ariana.”

He dutifully inspected her hands, not knowing the difference between a healthy cuticle and one that wasn’t. “What I don’t get is why she wouldn’t want to help more people with their cuticles.”

George frowned. “You should talk to her about it.”

He planned on it. He lifted his wine, looking at her over the rim. “Then let’s talk about you.”

“You aren’t getting into my pants,” she said just as casually, sipping her drink.

“Your pants aren’t the ones I want to get into,” he said honestly.

To his surprise, a wide grin spread across her face, taking her from interesting-looking to beautiful in two seconds flat. “Tell me more,” she said, leaning her chin into her hand.

He shook his head. “No way. I know where your loyalties lie. I don’t want you tipping my hand before I’m ready, and I’ve already said too much.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

He snorted.

“Okay, it’s not, but I won’t say anything as long as you behave yourself. Within reason,” she added with a smirk.

“You know what? I kinda like you.”

“You’re not bad either.”

That settled, he hunched comfortably into the bar. “So tell me about your shop.”

George shrugged. “My parents traveled all the time. My grandfather took care of me when they were gone. Poppy owned the garage, and his dad owned it before him. I just followed in their footsteps. I like fixing things.”

“So you’re literally grandfathered into the neighborhood.”

“Yeah, that’s one way of putting it.” She chuckled.

“You’re an institution in this neighborhood, as much as this wine bar or the strange optometrist shop across the street.”

“So you’ve noticed the Barbies,” she said with a crooked grin. “Wait till you see what he does for holidays. Halloween is particularly entertaining.”

He thought of Ariana and hoped he’d still be around to see it. “So I called your shop today to check it out before our meeting. I had a feeling Ariana wasn’t being completely honest.”

“I do okay.” George’s nose wrinkled. “It was hard when I first started working there, because no guy wants a girl touching his ride, but Poppy told them they could take their car someplace else if they didn’t want to trust me, because that was the same as not trusting him.”

Sebastian watched her eyes soften with affection. “You loved him.”

“With all my heart,” she said with candor. “I’d give anything to have him back, even the garage, and I love it.”

He could tell. “He passed away.”

“Last year.” She looked away, obviously composing herself. “The shop’s mine now.”

“You think I can get a grand tour sometime?”

“Sure.” She looked at him askance. “How long are you going to be around?”

He thought of Ariana’s delicious scent and the adorable way her dimple winked when she was amused. “A little while, I hope.”

She tapped her glass up to his. “Good.”

‡

H
ow many mornings had he sat at this precise spot, in the nook overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge, reading the paper while Lillian moved around the kitchen doing—

What? What did she do as she bustled around?

Edward stared at her, standing by the sink. He had no idea who his wife was. He wasn’t sure he had in a long time.

Unless she laughed. In her laughter, he recognized the woman he’d fallen in love with. She just never laughed with him anymore.

Not that she was around much. If she wasn’t with the girls, she was in her studio, painting.

He never went up there. He figured it was her domain, her version of a man cave. He didn’t want to invade her privacy.

Frankly, it was safer this way. When she’d shown him the first painting she’d done, he hadn’t known what to say except that it was interesting.

That
hadn’t gone over well.

He hadn’t considered it a negative comment like she had. She’d decided to start painting out of the blue several years ago, without any sort of training. He couldn’t be faulted for not thinking she was going to be Picasso. Since, he avoided her artwork because he didn’t want to lie or say something that’d hurt her feelings.

Frowning, he lowered his head over his newspaper. Old-fashioned, his daughters would tease. But the words on the page weren’t his focus—what Diane had said to him earlier that week was.

It’d have been so easy to dismiss her advice and find someone else to distract him, but her words haunted him.

He did love his wife; he just wasn’t sure this was the same woman. They no longer shared a life, instead living two separate ones.

His life felt old, while she still looked young and vital. She dressed like their daughters in jeans and a T-shirt, her feet bare and her hair in a ponytail. From behind she could have been a teenager.

It was depressing. He started to look away when her right ankle caught his attention. He squinted, leaning in to get a better look.

A bracelet around her ankle.

She turned, and the diamond set in it winked at him.

He frowned. It seemed racy—not the sort of thing a woman her age should wear.

“Do you need more coffee, Edward?”

His frown deepened. “No.”

“Are you okay?” she asked, watching him with polite curiosity.

No, he wasn’t. “Fine.”

She arched her brow. “If you say so.”

“Have lunch with me,” he blurted.

The moment he heard the bumbling command he scowled. What was wrong with him? This awkward man wasn’t who he’d been. Retirement had broken him.

Lillian didn’t seem to notice anything wrong. She just smiled politely like he was a stranger and said, “I already ate.”

He frowned. He hadn’t taken that into consideration. “Tomorrow then.”

“I have plans already.”

“Doing what?”

She arched her brow. “Is this idle curiosity, or is there more going on here?”

“I don’t know.” He glanced at her ankle. “Is there more going on?”

Her lovely face went frosty. “I assume you’re done here,” she said, picking up his coffee cup and setting it in the sink. Without another word, she walked out, her back ramrod straight.

That went well.

He tapped his fingers on the table. Then he pulled out his phone and called Belle.

His younger daughter answered her phone on the third ring. “Dad, I just found out that Cosmo is doing a spread on my yoga line in their September issue.”

“Congratulations, honey.” Some of his agitation dissipated with pride. He’d been doubtful when she’d told him that she wanted to start her own athletic line, but he’d had the foresight to keep it to himself. Good thing, because she’d taken the idea and turned it into an enterprise. She was his girl.

“Is Mom around? I was about to call her.”

“I think your mother is busy right now.” He pictured that bracelet-thing around Lillian’s ankle and frowned.