Spiral of Bliss 03 Awaken (7 page)

“I think it’s a great idea too,” I tell him.

“I’d only suggest that you make sure you have enough money not just to start up, but also maintain working capital for at least eight or nine months.”

Ah, Professor West. Always practical. And usually right.

“What does Allie think?” he asks.

“She’s excited about it, but we need to do a lot of work and research first. I don’t even know how much it would take to get started, or if my inheritance is enough.”

“I’ll give you whatever else you need.”

My stomach twists. “I know you would, but I really want to do this by myself.”

“I don’t mean I’d be a partner. I’d just give you the money.”

“Dean, I don’t want you to.”

“Why not?”

“Because I need to figure it out
by myself,
” I tell him. “And if you ride in like the cavalry to save me, that defeats the whole purpose.”

“How is supporting you defeating a purpose?”

“I don’t want to be indebted to you for a business. Do you realize that I have been financially dependent on you for everything?”

“That doesn’t matter, Liv.”

“It matters to me now.” I can’t keep a hint of impatience from my voice. “I thought it was all so blissful and comfortable, and it was easy to let you take care of everything. Even when I was looking for a job, there was no urgency about it because I knew you’d be there if I failed. Maybe that’s why I never figured out what I’m good at. I haven’t failed enough.”

“You don’t need to fail to figure that out. It takes time, not failure.”

“Look, all I’m saying is that I appreciate the offer, but I can’t take money from you. I won’t. With this inheritance, I finally have the opportunity to start something on my own.”

“Liv, everything I have is yours too. You’re not taking anything from me.”

“No, Dean. I need to do this
without you.
”

The air between us vibrates with irritation. The pattern of my quilt blurs before my eyes. Once again, it would be so easy to surrender. Dean would give Allie and me whatever amount of money we need, we’d start our fanciful little business… and there would be a huge safety net beneath us no matter what went wrong.

Who wouldn’t want to accept such an offer?

And how would I feel about myself if I did?

I straighten my spine and take a breath before speaking again.

“Thank you,” I say. “And I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. You know in the
Wizard of Oz
when Dorothy realizes at the end that the ruby slippers will bring her home? And Glinda the Good Witch of the North tells her that she had to learn for herself that she always had the power?”

“Uh, sure.”

“It’s like that.”

“Okay.” He sounds faintly confused.

I search my brain for something he can better relate to. “Or it’s like King Arthur. He couldn’t have become king if he hadn’t had the strength to pull Excalibur from the stone, right?”

“Actually, evidence is that there were two swords,” Dean says. “And there are a few different versions of that story, one from Geoffrey of Monmouth stating that the Lady of the Lake gave Arthur the sword after he ascended the throne.”

I can’t help smiling. My sexy, wonderful husband, a scholar to the core.

“Do you get my point at all, professor?” I ask.

He’s silent for a moment. I almost hold my breath.

“I get it,” he says, and now the tone of his voice indicates that he really does.

“Okay.” I exhale slowly, my tension easing. “You know I love you like a bee loves honey.”

“You know I can’t wait to pollinate your flower.”

I chuckle. “It’s been a while since you have, huh?”

“Way too long, baby.”

My heart tightens a little. Neither of us knows exactly how
much
longer it will be.

“Still there?” Dean asks.

“I’m here. I miss you.”

“I miss you too, beauty.”

I imagine him lying on his bed, one arm behind his head, his T-shirt stretched across his muscular chest. I shake off my brief sorrow and run a hand over my body.

“You know, I’ve been having such hot dreams about us,” I remark.

“Am I still a gladiator in your dreams?”

“You’ve been all sorts of sexy, manly things.” I close my eyes and settle deeper into the chair. “A knight, of course. A vampire.”

“I’m sure I bit you.”

“Uh huh.” I slide a hand underneath my T-shirt to my breasts. “You’ve been a rock star, a cowboy, a firefighter… oh, that was a good one because you rescued me from a burning building, then couldn’t take your hands off me… And once you were a half-naked genie—”

“A genie?”

“Mmm. You went up in smoke when I rubbed your lamp.”

I don’t know whether to be annoyed or amused when Dean starts laughing.

Over the next week, Allie and I continue to brainstorm ideas for the café as we finish emptying the bookstore. I call Marianne to set up a meeting so Allie can also see the interior of Matilda’s Teapot.

“We were talking about murals.” Allie spreads out her hands to frame the south wall. “Maybe we could paint a scene of the Mad Hatter tea party there. Curtains and tablecloths with patterns of cards on them. And if we do the
Wizard of Oz
upstairs, we could decorate the rooms according to the location. Like Emerald City, a Kansas farm, Munchkinland, and the witch’s castle.”

“You’ll have to get inspections done, but the building itself is up to code,” Marianne says. “And the kitchen is ready for cooking and customers, so it would be a matter of redecorating, establishing the menu, ordering new inventory, and working out a business plan.”

I glance at her. “You told me you were sorry you had to retire, but that running the tearoom became too much for one person.”

“That’s true.”

“Would you be interested in helping us do some planning?” I ask. “We could use your expertise.”

“I’d love to. I can give you all the overhead costs and help you with permits and insurance. I can also put you in touch with my suppliers and even my former staff, if you’d like.”

The three of us sit down at one of the tables. Allie gets out her notebook and I open my laptop.

“Oh, and a local magazine is doing a story on Matilda’s Teapot and how it became an institution,” Marianne continues. “If it works out with your idea, the reporter might include you in the story as the next business for the historic building. It’s a magazine about women entrepreneurs, so it would be a great angle.”

“Great publicity too,” Allie remarks.

Though I’m excited at the idea of even being considered an entrepreneur, by the time we’ve figured out a budget for start-up expenses, I’m shell-shocked at how much it will all cost.

“If we get moving soon, we can start remodeling right away,” Allie says as she and I walk back to the Happy Booker. “Even set a date for opening. The sooner we can open, the faster we can start turning a profit.”

“Remodeling alone will be pricey.”

“We can do a lot of that ourselves, like painting and stuff. And Brent knows a bunch of contractors who’d give us a good price.”

“This is a huge undertaking.”

“I know, but we have an awesome location, and with Marianne and Brent’s help we’ll have great management. And Marianne said her staff would probably love to come back. Some of them had been working for her for years, and they have a ton of experience.”

“Who will run the kitchen?”

“Brent knows the woman who runs the kitchen over at the Sugarloaf Hotel,” Allie says. “She has lots of contacts in the area. I’m sure she can recommend someone good. Oh, I was thinking we could serve shoestring fries and call it Scarecrow’s Straw. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

I should have known, I think, as I haul another box of books to the storage area. Aside from being an eternal optimist, once Allie sets her mind on something, she’s like a bulldog gnawing on a steak bone.

Well, more like a cocker spaniel nibbling at a dog treat, but she’ll bite your ass if you try and take it away from her.

After turning over the numbers a hundred times and getting Brent’s input, Allie and I hire an inspector for the building, and meet with a lawyer who explains and negotiates the lease terms.

Finally, before either of us loses courage, we agree to sign the lease. On the evening of March twenty-seventh, after we hang up the
Closed
sign at the Happy Booker for the last time, Allie locks the door and comes to the front counter where I’m putting on my coat.

“Hold on.” She hurries into the office and returns carrying her things and a bottle of champagne.

“What’s that for?” I ask.

“For us.” Allie plunks the bottle on the counter and produces two plastic cups from her bag. “A celebration. One door closing, another one opening and all that.”

“Good God, Allie, do you fart glitter?”

She bursts into laughter. “Pink and purple all the way.”

I grin as she hands me the bottle to open. We pour the champagne, toast to the end of the Happy Booker and the beginning of the Wonderland Café. Allie locks up the store and pushes the keys back through the mail slot. We hug each other goodbye, agree to get together later in the week, and head home.

Now that the bookstore is officially closed, I’m even more nervous about the café venture. It was my idea, and I’m the one who asked Allie to be a partner. If it doesn’t work out, the failure will lie on my shoulders.

And even though I told Dean that maybe I haven’t failed enough, I certainly don’t want to take a friend down with me if I do. On the other hand, Allie was right when she said we already have a great support system and location.
Failing
would actually take some work.

I shake off my lingering uncertainty as I walk into the foyer of our apartment building. I collect a few bills from the mailbox and go upstairs. There’s a note taped to our front door. I stop.

Shock floods me. I stand there and try to process what the note means. Then my heart gives a wild leap, jolting me into action. I turn and hurry back downstairs to Avalon Street. The instant I step outside, I start to run.

CHAPTER FIVE

Olivia

rush down the street on a wave of excitement, swerving to avoid pedestrians, my feet barely touching the sidewalk. My heart is spinning, leaping, twirling. Exhilaration dances through me like a million bubbles buoyed by the wind.

I have to force myself to slow and muster some calm as I approach the Wildwood Inn. One of the nicest hotels in Mirror Lake, the Wildwood is housed in a fancy building that sits on a tree-lined street overlooking the lake. A uniformed doorman greets me with a tip of his cap and opens the door.

I step into the hushed interior, which has been lovingly restored over the years with a polished oak staircase, nineteenth-century antiques, and stained-glass windows. Trying to appear composed even though my whole body is zinging with elation, I go to the front desk.

Allie’s boyfriend, Brent, is working at one of the computers, wearing his
Manager
tag. He glances up and smiles at me.

“Hi, Liv.”

“Hi.” I stop, still struggling to catch my breath and settle my racing heart. “I was… there was a note… I mean, I think my…”

Brent turns and takes a key from the old-fashioned rack behind the counter.

“Firefly Cottage is one of our private cottages down by the lake,” he says, extending the key to me. “Take the door leading to the garden and follow the path to the right. It’s the third cottage on the left.”

I manage to close my hand around the key.

“He’s waiting for you.” Brent gives me a wink and reaches for the phone. “I’ll tell him you’re on your way.”

I go past the dining room to the back garden. Once I’m outside, I hurry over the flagstone paths toward the green-shuttered cottage tucked in a grove of trees. Light shines through the windows. An engraved sign over the door reads Firefly Cottage.

With a shaking hand, I unlock the door and push it open.

Dean.

I feel him the instant I step into the room. An intense crackle of energy arcs into me, soaring through my blood. A happiness like no other fills me, a deluge of colors almost overwhelming in depth and intensity.

He’s standing on the other side of the room, his hands in his pockets, his dark hair brushed away from his forehead. Dressed in charcoal-gray slacks and a navy shirt, the tan of his skin making his eyes more brilliant than ever, my husband is strikingly, heartrendingly beautiful. I can only stare at him, as if he’s a mirage that will disappear if I blink.

Our eyes meet with a thousand sparks. And then he smiles that gorgeous smile that makes his eyes crease at the corners and takes away what little breath I have left. My knees get so weak I’m not sure I can stand much longer.

But, as it turns out, I don’t have to. Because Dean crosses the room to me in a few long strides, wraps his arms around me, and lifts me clear off the ground. He pulls me against him, the length of his body pressed to mine, the heat of him flowing through his shirt and into me.

He tightens one arm around my waist and cups the back of my neck with the other. We stare at each other, his eyes dark and intense before his lips come down on mine in a kiss of fierce, tender possession.

And, just like that, I fall wildly in love with my husband all over again.

A flood of tears fills my eyes. I wind my arms around his shoulders and my legs around his waist, tears slipping down my cheeks even as our lips remain locked together. Emotion ripples around us, all the pent-up longing of our separation breaking open into a spiral of warmth and light.

Finally Dean eases back a few inches and rests his forehead against mine.

“Hey, beauty.” His deep voice rolls over my skin.

“Welcome home, professor.”

He lowers me down slowly, sliding my body against his. I press my face to the front of his shirt, inhaling the familiar scent of him as the area around my heart expands with love. We stand there forever, wrapped in each other again, our separation disappearing like a shadow lightened by sunshine.

I rub my cheek against his strong chest. “When did you get back?”

“Earlier today. Wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Best surprise ever.”

He presses his lips to the top of my head. A slight tension courses through him. “I have to leave again, but I’ve got about ten days. Came back to see you and also for a meeting.”

I tighten my arms around his waist and don’t respond. The unspoken implication of the
meeting
is clear enough, and I want nothing bad to invade our reunion.

I ease back to look at him. He puts his hand against my cheek, the tension fading as he brushes away the tears still tracking down my face.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” he says.

“Oh, I have an idea. Especially if it’s half as happy as I am to see you.”

“It’s twice as happy. No, way more than that.”

“Not possible.”

He smiles, sliding his thumb across my lips, his gaze warm. Pleasure fills me at that look, so replete with love and tenderness that I’m reminded anew that together we can withstand anything.

Brushing his hand over my neck, Dean steps away and goes to the telephone. His gaze still on me, he picks up the phone and presses a button.

“About ready here,” he says into the receiver.

I give him a puzzled look. He turns away and lowers his voice. I take the opportunity to look around the room, which I haven’t even noticed in my excitement. Firefly Cottage is a bright, airy place with maple furniture and a gleaming, hardwood floor. Ivory curtains hang from the windows, a hand-crafted down quilt covers the bed, and there’s even a little kitchen with stainless steel appliances and granite countertops.

I step to the French doors on the other side of the room, which lead to a private porch and a pathway to the shore of the lake. The sky is still light enough that I can see the water rippling in the wind, the mountains outlined against the horizon like a painting.

I turn at the sound of a knock on the front door, and Brent appears with a wheeled cart topped with silver-domed dishes. He grins at me again and sets up the dinner on a linen-covered table beside the windows.

He lights two candles, places a vase of roses on the windowsill, and uncorks a bottle of wine. He exchanges a few words with Dean and puts another covered plate and silver carafe on the kitchen counter.

After Brent leaves, Dean pulls a chair out from the table and gestures for me to sit down. I’m suddenly aware of how I must look—dressed in torn jeans and an old, button-down shirt, grubby from hauling boxes at the bookstore all day, not a speck of makeup on my face.

I run a hand self-consciously over my hair and search in my pocket for a rubber band. I wish I’d taken the time—and had the presence of mind—to at least have put on some lipstick before flying back to my husband.

“Sorry, I didn’t even have a chance to brush my hair,” I mumble.

“You’re beautiful. You’re my wish come true.”

“Aw.” I smile as that fluttering sensation warms my blood. “Good one.”

He winks at me. “Don’t put your hair up.”

I toss the rubber band onto a nearby table, finger-combing the tangles out of my hair before I sit down. By the time Dean has uncovered the plates, I’m even more in love with him. King salmon, wild rice pilaf, grilled zucchini, eggplant, and peppers.

“Our first date dinner,” I say. “At the White Rose.”

“Hoped you’d remember.” Dean pours two glasses of pinot noir and sits across from me. “Not bad with the courting you, huh?”

“On the contrary. All very good.”

I’m so happy to be sitting across from him again that I’m not sure I can even eat anything. But the food is delicious, and we soon ease into a comfortable conversation about the Wonderland Café, a few local events in Mirror Lake, and the next phase of excavation for the archeological dig.

We keep glancing at each other as we eat, and several times Dean reaches across the table to brush a speck of rice off my lip or push my hair away from my forehead.

“I can’t stop touching you,” he says, his gaze tracking over my face. “You look incredible. I know you kept telling me you were okay, but I hated not being able to take care of you.”

“I’ve done a pretty good job taking care of myself.”

“You really have, Liv. I’m proud of you.”

My heart fills with pleasure. It’s like the satisfying click of a puzzle piece fitting into place. I reach over to squeeze his hand in silent thanks before we return to our dinners.

The candles are half-burned by the time we start eating slices of rich chocolate torte for dessert. When we’ve both finished, Dean pushes away from the table and comes around to my side.

He grasps my hands and tugs me to my feet. His expression fills with warmth as he gazes at me for a long minute.

“And now, my beauty,” he says, placing his hands on either side of my face, “I’m going to kiss you like I’ve never kissed you before.”

Oh…

Desire brews in his eyes as he lowers his head to press his mouth against mine. I melt, falling into him as if we’ve never been apart, as if we’ve never had any heartache between us. The years slip away, my entire being sparking with that thrilling anticipation of discovering the depths of our attraction.

I part my lips under his, my body swaying against him as his tongue slides into my mouth. Lust flames through me, scorching my blood. He tastes like chocolate, his breath warm and delicious.

The ache of longing from the past few weeks disappears into
this
… all heat and light. The world both spins and steadies around me, a cascade so thrilling because I know that no matter how far and wildly I fall, Dean will always be there to catch me.

He takes my face in his hands, lifting his head just far enough so he can trail kisses over my cheek to my ear, down to my neck, then back up to my lips again. Each touch of his mouth sends shivers raining through me. His body heat burns through his shirt, and I press closer, my nipples hardening against his chest. I can feel the urgency coiling in him, the hunger that has gone unsatisfied for too long.

We tumble onto the bed together. Dean curls his fingers around my wrists to pin my hands beside my head. He shifts halfway on top of me, putting his leg over my thighs as he lowers his head to kiss me again.

His body is powerful and hot, his chest a solid wall of muscle against my breasts. He deepens the kiss, licking my lower lip, claiming me again. Pleasure swirls through me, thought disappearing into the reminder of everything we are to each other.

Dean releases one of my wrists and moves his hand to the front of my shirt, slipping two buttons free to expose a deeper V of skin and the swell of my cleavage. My heart kicks into high gear at the sensation of his hand on my bare skin, his erection pressing against my thigh. I’m drowning in images of our naked bodies sliding together, my legs wrapped around his hips as he thrusts into me again and again…

I close my eyes as Dean kisses the hollow of my throat, his breath steaming against my skin. I grip the back of his shirt, eager to pull it from the waistband of his trousers and run my hands over his muscular back.

And then, unwelcome and sudden, a wave of stark worries filters through my haze of lust.