Spiral of Bliss 03 Awaken (9 page)

My proposal to Liv was the worst ever. In fact, it wasn’t even a proposal. I knew she didn’t care about extravagant gestures, which was a relief since I wasn’t good at the romantic stuff. But even I could have done better than that.

The summer after my visiting professorship in Madison ended, nine months into our relationship, Liv and I drove to Pennsylvania, where my next job at the University of Pennsylvania was located. We had plans to continue our relationship long-distance until Liv graduated, and then we’d figure out our next step. En route to the university, we stopped in a small town with a dozen antique shops catering to tourists.

After lunch, we walked around town and visited a few of the cluttered shops. I was looking at some old camera equipment, and Liv was busy examining the contents of a glass case near the front.

I heard her talking to the owner, a friendly, middle-aged woman with a nametag that read Mrs. Bird. I wandered over to see what they were discussing.

“It’s a cameo ring.” Liv held out a silver ring topped with a delicate, carved silhouette of a woman with flowing hair.

“A unique one,” Mrs. Bird added. “Late nineteenth century, rose gold, with a carved shell cameo. Undamaged, as you can see. Notice the detail on the woman’s dress too, the open flower near her collar.”

Liv slipped the ring onto her finger and spread out her hand. “My mother used to have something like this. It belonged to her mother, I think. I don’t know what happened to it.”

“Does it fit, Cinderella?” I asked.

Mrs. Bird smiled. Liv twisted the ring and nodded.

“How much is it?” she asked Mrs. Bird.

The owner glanced at the tag inside the counter. “Nine hundred dollars.”

“Oh.” Liv tugged the ring off. “It’s lovely, but I’m afraid that’s too much.”

“We’ll take it.” I pulled out my wallet.

“Dean—”

“I haven’t gotten you an engagement ring yet.” The words just came out.

Liv stared at me. My stomach twisted.

“Uh, if you… if you want one, that is,” I stammered. “An engagement ring. I mean, if we… I… want to… you know. Get married.”

Mrs. Bird chirped with excitement. Liv blinked. I started to sweat. I wanted Liv with a force that hurt, needed her like I needed air, loved her beyond reason. But not until that instant did I realize I couldn’t imagine the rest of my life without her.

“Dean—”

“Ring it up, please.” I handed Mrs. Bird my credit card.

“Oh, what a romantic gift!” Mrs. Bird fluttered over to run my card through the machine. “Congratulations to both of you.”

Liv was quiet as I finished paying and Mrs. Bird packed up the ring in a little box. When we stepped back outside, Liv put her hand on my arm.

“It doesn’t have to be an engagement ring,” I said quickly. “It can just be a…”
Shit, what was another reason for a ring?
“A… friendship ring.”

“Dean, I love you.”

My heart stopped as I waited for the
“but.”

Liv smiled that beautiful smile that hit me in the middle of my chest every single time.

“And I would love to be your wife,” she said.

But…?

She looked at me expectantly. I swallowed hard.

“But?” I asked.

“What?”

“You would love to be my wife, but… what?”

Liv looked baffled. “But nothing.”

“You would love to be my wife, period?”

“Yes.” A frown creased her forehead. “You do want us to get married, don’t you?”

Jesus, West, pull it together.

Because I couldn’t stammer out a sentence, I just grabbed her and hauled her against me. I planted a deep kiss on her that was probably indecent in public. Then I eased away to look into her brown eyes.

My girlfriend. My fiancée. My beauty.

I wanted her to be
my wife
as soon as possible, but I knew women had ideas about big weddings and fancy dresses. Though I didn’t think Liv ever had, I asked her what kind of wedding she wanted.

“One that ends with us married,” she said.

I thought I should do something extravagant to make up for my pitiful excuse of a proposal, so I contacted an old friend whose father owned a vineyard in the Loire. After a few months of making arrangements, Liv and I went to France in July and were married on the villa’s terrace by the cleric of the local church.

The details are all fused together—like the parts of a brilliant, stained-glass window.

Ivy climbing up the stone walls of the villa. The Delacroix family sitting nearby. Endless sloping hills covered with grapevines. The family dog lounging in a patch of sunlight.

Liv walking toward me in a simple white dress, a few flowers threaded through her long hair. Breaking my heart with her beauty.

The soft clasp of her hands around mine.

Her smile, like a secret meant only for me.

Her voice, gentle and certain.

The intense, overwhelming love that almost brought me to my knees.

“I’m at your feet forever, Olivia Rose,” I whispered the instant before our lips met. “I’ll move heaven and earth to give you whatever you want, whatever you need.”

“Oh, Dean.” She pressed her hand to the side of my face. “All I need is you.”

And then the kiss, a perfect harmony of the stars and planets that started my universe all over again.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Olivia

March 28

finally understand why Dorothy, Maria, Eliza, Gigi, and Sandy break out into song in the midst of going about their lives. Sometimes your heart gets so filled with emotions that words alone can’t express them all. So you need singing and dancing, a philharmonic orchestra, and a full chorus backing you up. Because there is
that much
inside you.

Since I don’t have an orchestra or chorus, and my dancing skills are decidedly lacking, I compensate by humming a little tune as I arrange croissants and brioche in baskets. It’s just past dawn, and the air is filled with the rich, fragrant scents of coffee and fresh baked goods.

My husband is home… my husband is home… my beautiful, intensely hot husband is home…

And he has a sexy weekend planned that has me all fluttery with excitement. I couldn’t be more in love with that man if I tried. I also couldn’t be more stirred up at the thought of all the erotic things we’re going to do, but I manage to contain my arousal beneath my anticipation.

The wait, I know, will be
so
worth it.

Still humming, I go through the swinging doors to the kitchen and get another tray of brioche. The owner of La Première Moisson is a gruff, older fellow from Lyons who thinks
“zee Ahmericans ruin zee good cuisine with zee fast food.”

The man does know how to make a spectacular croissant, though, so I forgive him his pretensions. Plus, he might be right about us.

“Hey, Gustave, do you know how to sing?” I ask him as I slide the tray of golden-brown bread onto the counter.

“Zing?” His brow furrows. You would think I’d just asked him if he knows how to yodel.

“Yeah. Like Edith Piaf.” I clear my throat and warble,
“Je ne regrette rien…”

Gustave looks as if I just spit in his vat of butter. I stop singing.

“Only curious.” I dump the brioche into another basket.

“I do not zing.” Gustave returns his attention to shaping baguettes. “Neither, apparently, do you, Oleevia.”

I grin and head to the front counter with the basket. After getting the displays filled, I unlock the doors at seven and help the customers who come in for coffee and breakfast. It’s busy for the next couple of hours, with hardly a lull until around nine.

When the crowd finally dwindles down a bit, I restock all the baskets with fresh pastries, clean the counters and floors, and get ready for the second morning rush.

I’m dipping almond cookies in chocolate when a familiar, deep voice rumbles over my skin.

“Medium coffee, please.”

I turn, my heart leaping at the sight of Dean standing on the other side of the counter. His dark eyes crinkle with warmth as he looks at me, a smile tugging at his mouth. He looks gorgeous, all rumpled masculinity in a sweatshirt and jeans, his hair disheveled by the breeze. If I stepped close to him, I’d smell shaving cream and fresh spring air.

A thousand memories wash over me of those early days when he’d walk in the door of Jitter Beans and our eyes would meet with sparks of electricity. How wonderful to feel that happy excitement again.

“Coming right up.” I turn to the coffee dispenser. “Room for cream in your coffee, sir?”

“No, thanks.”

I pour the coffee and slide the cup across the counter. “Can I interest you in a fresh croissant or brioche?”

“Sure. You pick for me.”

I select a buttery, chocolate croissant for him and slip it into a bag, then ring up the purchase.

“See how I’m moving up in the world?” I ask. “From Jitter Beans to La Première Moisson. Ooo la la.”

“Indeed.” He returns my smile, digging into his pocket for his wallet. “You always did have that
je ne sais quoi.
”

He glances behind him to ensure there’s no one else in the shop, then leans across the counter to press his lips against mine. A hint of eucalyptus and fresh air fill my nose.

I fall into him, melting like sun-warmed honey. He cups my chin and angles my face to his in exactly the right way. I slide my hand around the back of his neck, rising up onto my tiptoes to increase the pressure of the kiss.

“You smell amazing.” He trails his mouth across my cheek to nuzzle his nose against my hair, his lips seeking my ear. His voice is a husky whisper. “Just want to back you up against the wall, lift your skirt, and spread your pretty legs.”

A shiver rocks me to my toes. “God, Dean.”

“Every time you say that…” he pulls away with a soft mutter, “…my self-control slips a little more.”

“God, Dean.”

He laughs. I smile and reach out to tweak his nose.

A Gallic-sounding grunt breaks through my pleasure. Gustave approaches, bearing a tray of éclairs. He puts the tray on top of the cold case and glowers at me, jerking his thumb toward the éclairs.

“Consider it done, monsieur.” I hurry to arrange the éclairs in lacy paper cups.

Gustave goes back to the kitchen. As he passes me, I swear I hear him humming “That’s Amore” under his breath.

“Okay, I’m going.” Dean steals one last, quick kiss before stepping back.

“Can you still come to the café this afternoon?”

“I’ll be there around one. Just going to stop at the apartment to pick up some things. And we’re on for tonight?”

“Of course.” I think about my sexy lingerie and wonder which set I should wear for him. Just the thought of his hot gaze raking over my half-naked, lace-clad body has me pressing my thighs together to ease the ache.

“I’ll pick you up at six,” Dean says.

“Where are we going?”

“McDonald’s.”

“Big spender.”

“Only for you, baby.” He winks at me and turns to go.

For a good half hour after he leaves, I can’t stop smiling. The orchestra is already striking up a song.

“Well.” Kelsey puts her hands on her hips and studies the main dining room of Matilda’s Teapot. “With some redecorating, you’ll be in great shape.”

“We’re starting the remodeling next week.” I look at the spreadsheets and plans scattered over one of the tables. “It’s a huge undertaking.”

“Yeah. But Allie’s right. You couldn’t have a better location, and it sounds like she and Brent know what they’re doing.” Kelsey turns to pierce me with one of her perceptive looks. “The question is… how do you feel about all this?”

“Mostly excited,” I tell her. “I’ve never done anything like it before, but I know it’s a great idea. I love being in business with Allie, and I’m happy that I can finally contribute something of my own.”

She’s still watching me. “So what’s the problem?”

“It’s nerve-wracking. What if I just poured my entire inheritance into a new business and it fails? And what if I didn’t calculate the costs of working capital correctly and we run out of money?”

Kelsey pushes a chair away from the table and straddles it, resting her arms across the back. “You could find another partner.”

“Not one both Allie and I could trust as much as we trust each other. Dean offered to help financially, but he knows I’m trying to do this on my own and he would never ask to be a partner.”

“What about me?” Kelsey asks.

“What about you?”

“What if I offered to be a partner?”

I lift my head. “What?”

“I’d be a partner in your business.”

“Are you serious?”

“Am I ever
not
serious?”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a bad idea. Mixing business with friendship.”

“You’ve never done it before. How do you know it’s a bad idea?”

“Everyone says so.”

“I don’t listen to everyone.”

I can only stare at her. Tears sting my eyes.

“Jesus, Liv,” Kelsey mutters. “Don’t
cry.
I’m offering you a partnership, not a kidney.”

“Sorry.” I grab a napkin and swipe my nose.

“Besides, you’re doing this with Allie, and she’s a friend, right?” Kelsey asks.

“I know, but you… you’re more like…”

“Like what?”

“Well, like family.” My heart clenches a little.

We both fall silent. Then Kelsey heaves a sigh.

“Okay, look. I’ll say this only once.” She digs her fingernail into a crack on the back of the chair. “I’ve never had a lot of close friends. I don’t like it when people start wanting to know shit about me. It’s annoying. But Dean’s never been like that. Never made me feel like I have to apologize for anything. And when he married you, I thought he’d change, that things would be different. I was all revved up to dislike you.”

“You were?” I can’t even imagine withstanding the force of Kelsey March’s dislike.

“Yeah,” she says. “But you made it impossible. The first time I met you was in LA at the farmer’s market. After Dean introduced us, you gave me this… this
Liv hug
and asked me to join you for crepes.”

She shakes her head, as if I’d asked her to fly over the rainbow.

“Um… I like crepes,” I say.

“Liv, I mean you just accepted everything, you know? Me. You never questioned my friendship with Dean. Never felt threatened by it. Not many people have figured out how to deal with me as fast as you did. Like you didn’t miss a beat. And you made your husband better, which is saying something.”

She shoves off the chair. “Okay, I’m done. That little speech will self-destruct in five seconds.”

I know enough not to respond to any of that, but my heart fills with love and affection for Kelsey and her bad-ass self.

“So, we’re finishing up the final numbers,” I say, turning to the spreadsheet. “Can I get back to you next week?”

“Yeah. You and Allie figure out if you need me, and I’ll see what I can do. Just don’t get all mushy about it.”

The sound of footsteps comes down the stairs, signaling Allie’s approach.

“Liv, I really think that front room should be the witch’s castle room,” she remarks, “because it has that view of the mountains, and the witch’s castle was surrounded by mountains. Hold on, let me grab my portfolio from the car and we can sketch out some ideas.”

She hurries out the back door. I gather up all the spreadsheets, and Kelsey shrugs into her jacket just as the bell over the door rings. We turn to see a tall man in his mid-forties enter, shedding his coat and pulling a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. He’s dressed with casual elegance in khakis and a button-down shirt.