Authors: Kristen Painter
The next two hours raced by. The female population of New York City had shown up in force. And God bless them, they’d bought nearly every copy of his cookbook the store had ordered.
He was in the midst of signing one when Meredith’s cell rang. He faked a cough, held up a hand to beg a moment and took a long, slow drink from his bottled water while he watched her.
She checked the caller ID and shook her head, a wry smile on her lips. She punched a button on her blackberry. “Hi there.”
Whoever was on the other end said something that pulled a light, breezy laugh out of her. He took a better look at her table. No sign of the second pepita cluster. Maybe she’d eaten it. Even better. Relaxing a bit, he recapped the bottle and dragged the back of his hand across his mouth.
Meredith leaned forward. “Completely sold out, if you can believe it.” She glanced in his direction. He ducked his head down over the book he was supposed to be signing and finished his signature with a flourish. Had she caught him eavesdropping?
He stole a sideways glance. She nodded into space, eyes straight ahead. “Sounds lovely. See you then.”
She hung up and tucked the phone back into her purse.
“You’re sold out?” He peered around one of her stand-up displays like he was seeing her table for the first time.
She nodded and gave him a look that said she knew better. She
had
seen him. “How astute of you to notice. You too?”
“About to be.” He tipped his head toward the giggling pair of blondes at his table. They clutched the last unsigned copies of his cookbook to their chests, their eyes big and moony.
She slipped her pen into her bag.
“You fixing to head out?”
“Preparing to, yes.”
He needed her to stay. He swiveled around. The waiting women whined. He smiled in their direction. “Would y’all just excuse me for a sec?”
They pouted. He winked, which set them to giggling again. Stomping down an eye roll, he directed his attention back to Meredith. “Can you hang out? Just ‘til I’m done?”
She stared at his lips. Well, now. Maybe his boyish good looks were getting to her after all. No woman was an island.
She pointed at his mouth. “I don’t think that’s your color.”
“Huh?”
The twitchy little almost-smile made a second appearance. She pointed again. “You have lipstick on the corner of your mouth.”
Sometimes overeager fans were a pain in the rump. He rubbed the heel of his palm on the spot she’d pointed to. “So will you stay?”
She cleared her throat. Or stifled a laugh, he couldn’t tell. “I can stay for a minute.”
“Thanks.” He flashed what he hoped she thought was a brilliant smile. Maybe he was out of his league. Dr. Black was no bobble-headed Barbie looking for a good time and a chance to get her picture in the paper because she was on his arm.
He signed the last book and stood to pose for one final picture. Finished, he sat back down and faced her. “I shoulda snagged one of your books earlier. I want one for my sister. Her husband died six months ago and she’s having a real rough time.”
“Ah.” She nodded, crossed her legs and lightly strummed her fingertips on the table. “I see.”
He had to say the right things, make the doctor understand. “She hardly leaves her apartment. She used to love shopping and getting her hair done and going to the spa. You know, girl stuff. Now, nothing makes her smile.” He picked at the seam on the inside leg of his jeans, emotion tightening his throat. “It’s killing me.”
“I understand.” She sighed, her gaze distant. “Look, I’ve got extra books at home. I’d be happy to mail her a signed one.”
He shook his head. That wasn’t enough. This wasn’t working. He should have gotten her to eat another chocolate. “Couldn’t you maybe give it to her in person? Talk to her for a few minutes?” Or every day until Shelby was better.
Her mouth tightened into a thin line. She dipped her head the way Gram used to when he’d gotten out of line. “I appreciate your concern for your sister, but I no longer see patients.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He brushed her rejection away with a wave of his hand. “I was hoping by meeting you, she’d see that life goes on even after...” He paused, unsure if he should finish the sentence.
“Even after burying two husbands?” Her response was so quick it sounded rehearsed. She uncrossed her legs and tugged down her skirt before looking at him.
Cursing himself for stuffing his boot in his mouth, he gave her a half-smile. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“Life does go on. I promise.” She smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes. After seeing what Shelby was going through, he understood.
She grabbed her purse and hooked the strap over her shoulder. “Give me an address and I’ll send her an autographed copy, but seeing me isn’t going to lessen the amount of grieving she needs to do. That’s a very personal thing.”
He slid to the edge of his seat, his hands itching to grab her and make her listen. She couldn’t leave. Not yet. “I’m not asking you to see her as a patient, just meet her. Give her a few encouraging words. That’s all.” This had gone so much easier in his head. “Please.”
He dug into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a business card. “We’re having a private shindig at my restaurant Sedona tomorrow night to celebrate the cookbook coming out. Shelby promised she’d come.” He snagged a pen off the table and signed his name on the back before offering it to her. “Just say a few words to her and then enjoy the party. That’s all I’m asking.”
She took the card and turned it slowly in her fingers as if doing some serious thinking. “That’s all?”
Bingo. He nodded. Maybe the chocolate was working after all.
She sliced the air with the card, twin diamonds winking from the band on her right hand. “I’ll come on two conditions.”
He slapped his thigh. Gram would be so proud. Good ole Texas charm never failed. Well, that and the power of the book’s recipes. “Anything. Just name it.”
“I’d like to bring two friends with me.”
“Sure thing. And?”
She fixed him with a look that said she meant to get what she wanted. Little did she know how eager he was to please. “Make another batch of those chocolates.”
“You got it.” He’d planned to anyway, just to make sure she kept seeing Shelby.
“Saturday night then.” Meredith gave him a nod and stood to leave. He stood too, watching her on her way out. She stopped only long enough to have a word with the owner. Kelly heaved out a sigh of relief and fell back into his chair. Mission accomplished. The urge to whoop was overwhelming.
So what if the good doctor looked like fun was a foreign word - she’d buried two husbands. That had to change a person. Shame, though. A woman with legs like that should get out two-stepping once in while.
He leaned back and propped his booted feet on the table. What kind of men had the doctor married? Had they died with smiles on their faces? There was a certain something about her—like that tied-up hair and all-business outfit was trying to corral a wild woman. He pictured her in cutoffs and cowboy boots, t-shirt tied at the waist, hair down over her shoulders. He grinned at the image. Highly unlikely the good doctor had ever dressed that way in her life.
He shook his head to clear the thought. Whatever Meredith was hiding was her business. He wouldn’t deny the good doctor got his curiosity up, but truth was, besides Gram, Shelby was the only woman who mattered in his life. He’d do whatever it took to make sure Meredith helped her.
Chapter Two
Meredith ate a bite of croissant. Brunch at Viv’s was an exercise in excess, just like everything else in Viv’s life. The woman didn’t do things any other way.
Swan, Viv’s amazing housekeeper and all around girl Friday, filled the china cups with fresh coffee. “Eggs coming right up, Miss Vivian.”
“Thank you, Swan,” Viv said.
Across the table, beyond the fragrant centerpiece of lilies, Vivian dropped a single cube of sugar into her coffee. The granddame of fundraising took a sip, set her cup back down then spread blood-orange marmalade on half a toasted English muffin.
Seated between Meredith and Vivian, Celia Barstow Wentworth added two packets of Splenda and enough heavy cream to muddy her coffee.
“Don’t tell me you’re back on the low carb thing?” Meredith asked. Celia was perpetually trying to lose five pounds.
Celia stirred her coffee then pushed her honey-blonde bangs out of her eyes. “Yes. I’ve given up spinning. All that pedaling and you never move. I’m over it.”
Viv laughed. “You look lovely the way you are.”
“Says the size two,” Celia added, rolling her eyes. “Daddy says I look fine, but mother says no Barstow woman has ever worn a wedding dress larger than a four.”
“Maybe you should remind your mother no Barstow woman has ever had your net worth either,” Viv said.
“Or been married without actually having a fiancé,” Meredith added. Poor Celia. She’d yet to date a man who saw past her prodigious trust fund or social standing, qualities that seemed to suit her mother just fine.
Viv tapped her spoon against her water goblet. “Enough chit-chat. Out with this important news, Meredith. Waiting gives me wrinkles.”
“Botox not working?” Meredith asked sweetly.
Viv faked a laugh. Meredith sipped her coffee then set her cup on its saucer. Taking her friends to this party should finally shut them up about her lack of social life. “We have a date this evening.”
Celia clapped. “How wonderful! It’s about time you went out again.”
Meredith grimaced at the younger woman’s insinuation. “I meant we as in us.” She swirled her fingers in a circle to indicate the assembled trio.
“Not a date?” Celia’s disappointed tone mirrored Viv’s expression.
“Men aren’t poison, you know,” Viv said.
But I am.
“I’m not interested in dating.”
Especially not a man younger than me.
Meredith gave her head a half-shake but Celia interrupted before she could continue.
“Please tell me this isn’t another lecture on the stages of grief. I love you, Mer, but I can’t sit through that a third time.”
“I agree,” Viv added. “I’d rather have tea with those old biddies from the Theater Guild.”
Meredith refrained from reminding Viv she was the same age as those old biddies. “No lecture. It’s a party.” She stabbed a bite of salmon and feigned disinterest. “A big party, from what I understand.”
Viv straightened in her chair. “A party or a social event worthy of new shoes?”
“Hah,” Meredith scoffed. “Like you need a reason to buy shoes.” Years ago when Viv had come to Meredith looking for solace in dealing with her first husband’s death, Meredith had assumed Viv’s voracious shopping was her way of subjugating the pain. Meredith had been wrong.
Viv held up a hand. “Don’t say another word.” She tapped one manicured nail on the table and narrowed her eyes. “Only two events going on tonight are worth being seen at. The Christian Louboutin trunk show at Bar Nine and that darling Chef Spicer’s book launch party at Sedona.” She lifted the linen tablecloth and stared in the direction of Meredith’s classic black loafers. “I think the odds are good you’re not shopping for a new pair of stilettos, so it can’t be either of those.”
“Flats are healthier.” Meredith crossed her ankles, tucking her shoes out of view. “How do you always know what’s going on in this town?”
“It’s my cross to bear.”
Celia’s eyes held a far away, dreamy look. “Have you seen those billboards? That man is gorgeous. He can cook for me anytime.” Celia fanned herself. “Tell me you got invites to that party at Sedona and I’ll be your best friend for life.”
Viv raised a brow in Celia’s direction. “A handsome man like that and you’re still thinking of food?” She sighed. “He is quite a dish, isn’t he? Wouldn’t mind a taste of that myself.” She smoothed her sleek ice-blonde bob.
Meredith shook her head. Chef Spicer’s looks were beside the point. “I can’t believe the two of you, going on like a bunch of teenage girls. Not to mention one of you is married.” She glared at Viv. “He’s young enough to be your son, you know.”
“Bite your tongue. I’m not that old,” Viv said. “What does age matter anyway? Jack is thirteen years my senior. You’ve never made a fuss about that.”
Meredith shrugged. “Why would I? Men mature at different rates. An older man works well with a younger woman. Besides, your husband never acts his age.”
Viv dismissed the comment with one heavily jeweled hand. “Back to the hot young cowboy. I approve. It’s high time you had a man in your life.”
Here we go again.
Meredith smacked the table top with her palm, rattling the crystal. “Chef Spicer is at least ten years younger than me. And I don’t need a man. You know how I feel about that.” She glanced at Celia. Her smirk put her firmly in Viv’s camp. Traitor.
Viv pursed her lips. “So how exactly did you get these invitations, my dear?”
Meredith ground her teeth together. “He sat next to me at the signing.”
Swan returned pushing a silver teacart. She placed a plate of poached eggs with caviar cream sauce and a petite filet of dilled salmon in front of each of them. Dishes of melon slices and fresh strawberries went onto the table as well as a crystal bowl of crème fraiche. “Enjoy your breakfast, ladies.”
“Thank you, Swan.” Viv gestured to Meredith with her fork. “I knew that signing was more successful than you let on. There was something in your voice when I talked to you.”
“There was nothing in my voice. Your hearing is going.”
After brunch, they moved to the sitting room. Walls of deep coral made the room glow with its own light. They relaxed on the embroidered silk chaises, Celia on one, Viv and Meredith on another, while Swan poured mimosas.
“What exactly
do
you plan on wearing to impress your new cowboy admirer at this event?” Viv asked. “Boots and a Stetson?”
Celia laughed until Meredith shot her a look. “I’m not trying to impress him and he’s not my admirer. I told you he just wants me to give his sister a book.” There was no way a handsome, young—she swallowed. Pointless thoughts. Chef Spicer wanted a book for his sister, nothing more. The feeling was mutual. She would hand over the book, then show her friends she could be as social as the next woman.