Some Like It Hotter
Isabel Sharpe
She takes hers tall, dark and extra hot!To coffee-shop owner Eva Meyer, the California coast is beautiful, mellow…and boring. The solution? Swapping lives–and coffee shops–with her twin sister for one month. Now Eva's settled in the bustling Big Apple, where she can order anything…anytime.And what Eva really wants is the extra hot, topped-with-whipped-cream sexiness that is Ames Cooke.While Eva is convinced she's found her perfect cup of Delicious Man, Ames isn't quite sure what to do with the quirky little number who's charged into his life. He's supposed to be attracted to someone cool and reserved–like her sister. But Eva has the unnerving ability to turn things seriously hot and steamy. Besides, it's only for one month. And like every good coffee addict, Ames can stop whenever he chooses….
She takes hers tall, dark and extra hot!
To coffee-shop owner Eva Meyer, the California coast is beautiful, mellow…and boring. The solution? Swapping lives—and coffee shops—with her twin sister for one month. Now Eva’s settled in the bustling Big Apple, where she can order anything…anytime.
And what Eva really wants is the extra hot, topped-with-whipped-cream sexiness that is Ames Cooke.
While Eva is convinced she’s found her perfect cup of Delicious Man, Ames isn’t quite sure what to do with the quirky little number who’s charged into his life. He’s supposed to be attracted to someone cool and reserved—like her sister. But Eva has the unnerving ability to turn things seriously hot and steamy. Besides, it’s only for one month. And like every good coffee addict, Ames can stop whenever he chooses….
He was hot—for her!
Eva’s cheeks were flushed, her blue eyes snapped and she’d spent nearly the whole hour tempting him. Her sweater had all but slipped off one shoulder, exposing smooth, sexy skin.
He better go home before he did something stupid. Like kiss her. Or more.
“Actually—” he glanced at his watch “—I should call it a night.”
Then he turned to smile and kiss her cheek in a platonic good-night.
Come on, Ames. Get the hell out while you can.
“I had fun, Eva.” He reached for the door handle. “Thanks for— What are you doing?”
“Who, me?” She’d swung her crazily booted leg over both of his and had managed to straddle him in the cab. “I’m just saying you’re welcome, Ames.”
“Jeez, you can’t—”
Yes, she could. She was already kissing him, hot, hungry kisses, pressing her body close.
He was a guy. That got a reaction. A fairly immediate and large one.
Wait, there was some reason he was going to avoid getting physical with her. Now he couldn’t remember what it was. In fact, his hands were at her waist, traveling down to explore the pink skirt.
Oh, man.
Dear Reader (#ulink_151da338-d12c-5b67-acb6-092d8de6e6f5),
I had so much fun writing Some Like It Hotter and playing with New York/California stereotypes to create a story of contrasts. I grew up in central New Jersey, and my husband is from California, so we are well aware that not everyone in New York is driven and harsh, and not everyone in California is a surfer dude, but those types served my story theme and provided a lot of fun, so I didn’t flinch.
Eva Meyer and her twin sister, Chris, learn a lot about themselves by switching coasts, coffee shops and lives. I hope you enjoy Eva’s experience trading a tiny West Coast town for the nonstop thrill ride of New York City. And I hope in February you’ll look for her sister’s story, in which former New Yorker Chris tries to cope with the slow pace of life in California and too many hot men!
Cheers,
Isabel Sharpe
www.IsabelSharpe.com (http://www.IsabelSharpe.com)
Some Like It Hotter
Isabel Sharpe
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#ulink_4d7db9d3-9f3b-5982-84fb-54386cfbb9f9)
ISABEL SHARPE was not born with pen in hand like so many of her fellow writers. After she quit work to stay home with her firstborn son and nearly went out of her mind, she started writing. After more than thirty novels for Mills & Boon, a second son and eventually a new, improved husband, Isabel is more than happy with her choices these days. She loves hearing from readers. Write to her at www.isabelsharpe.com (http://www.isabelsharpe.com).
To Paul Miller and Lissy Matthews of Colectivo Coffee, who helped me tremendously by answering all my pesky java questions.
Contents
Cover (#u4f35d9e9-585b-5d9d-8f9e-2f1a6c47493e)
Back Cover Text (#u1c72b74a-b232-5b33-93f7-31b94b5a973c)
Introduction (#u86348217-7a63-53f3-b0a9-c8d856ba7229)
Dear Reader (#u7a799ac1-d488-54bd-bf88-5a9241ef1213)
Title Page (#u58f80ca2-4af2-5158-8599-81663d98eb6d)
About the Author (#uc020caf5-7965-51ea-b18e-797dc6a14393)
Dedication (#uf6133d39-ccbe-5cac-9752-6c4a59f6a1e1)
Prologue (#ubc07c5e4-5814-5e6d-acb1-5ecec102ee53)
Chapter One (#u3259d967-31a5-5a76-bc2c-860621554eae)
Chapter Two (#ucddeab34-37c6-5adc-8bcb-ac4209b29dfc)
Chapter Three (#u6123891e-c349-5acc-aa50-fc61d2525f07)
Chapter Four (#u6f8f7231-fd51-5835-8571-1309f27385b4)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue (#ulink_1a6b0c5a-5701-56ab-b369-08b52884953c)
THE SUN WAS setting over the Pacific. Eva Meyer sat on Aura Beach on California’s Central Coast, a cup of her own blend of orange chamomile tea in hand. The colors were fantastic, a soaring ceiling of pink, orange and burgundy, reflected in the clouds and across the water. Over her cheeks blew a gentle, fresh September breeze. Pelicans winged past, long necks doubled back, wings arcing, heading south. Any moment the magic of a dolphin breaching the ocean’s restless surface could happen.
She was bored stiff.
As a matter of fact, she’d been feeling off center and uncharacteristically low for the past several months. Around here they’d put her funk down to some interruption in her chi or planets out of alignment or angry spirits or whatever mystical forces might be at work—but her sensible midwestern roots were looking for a more concrete reason. Maybe she’d been working too hard, maybe she hadn’t been social enough, definitely she hadn’t been getting enough sex. But boredom? That kind of thing wasn’t easy to admit. Only the Boring Get Bored had been her accountant mother’s mantra, which Eva had lived by—often to an excess her mother didn’t approve of.
But today, during this relatively rare moment of relaxation and reflection, the ugly truth had burst from its hiding place and smacked her across the face.
Ow.
For the past three of her twenty-eight years she’d been the proud owner of the Slow Pour coffee shop in the tiny town of Carmia, building a decent business, honing its identity, growing its reputation. Though she totally loved the shop, loved the friendly vibe it put out in the community for residents and tourists alike, was totally into the challenge of keeping the business afloat, underneath it all she was...
Bored.
How could this happen? Years of learning beside her father, coffee scientist Dr. Meyer, decades of traveling to major coffee-producing locations—Hawaii, Ethiopia, Brazil, Indonesia—had fostered her dream. All her life she’d known she’d escape the Midwest for the serenity, beauty and open-mindedness of the California coast, that she’d be her own boss with her own shop...she was living a fantasy come true! How many people got to do that?
Her fraternal twin sister, Chris, older by a whole two minutes and as glamorous and driven as Eva was nonconformist and laid-back, had made her same dream come true in New York City, buying the shop NYEspresso a couple of years after Eva rescued a sad little bankrupt souvenir shop and transformed it into Slow Pour. You didn’t see Chris whining after achieving her life’s goal. What kind of spoiled brat would have it all and still be wanting more?
She sighed, sipping her tea, watching the sky turn Crayola colors...
Bored.
* * *
“UNGH.” CHRIS FLOPPED onto the narrow bed in her small bedroom in the tiny apartment on East Eighty-Seventh Street that she shared with her roommate, Natalie. Outside her window a siren blared, horns honked, a driver shouted, “Get the heck out of the way, please!”
Only he didn’t say please. Or heck.
She was exhausted.
Not fun to admit. Or to experience. She’d always had the energy of an ant. Or a hummingbird. Or a gazelle. Now she was more like a cow. Or cat. Or sloth. For a while she thought maybe her low mood was due to the death of her favorite season, summer, and the approaching long winter months. Or maybe residual disappointment over her breakup with John, though that had been weeks ago, and they’d only dated four months before realizing they were not so meant to be after all.
But today she’d actually turned down an invitation to go dancing with friends from her Zumba class. Instead, she’d chosen to come home, eat a bowl of soup and stare at the wall, because she was...
Exhausted.
No, no, this was all wrong! Since when did anything even slow her down, let alone wear her out? She’d known her whole life that she’d end up in a major city someday. Noise, bustle and a certain amount of chaos were her bread and butter, her peanut butter and Nutella, her French roast and cream. Bright lights, big city—oh, yeah, bring it on! And had she ever. For the past three years, she’d been part of the amazing ride that was New York City, working first as a manager at Fine Grind and last year buying the store and making it her own, NYEspresso. She hadn’t been turning an amazing profit, but hadn’t run it into the ground, either. Her dream had come true! Somebody pinch her!
No, someone punch her for all this whining. Her free-spirited twin, Eva, had also achieved coffee nirvana, and she was having a blast, not a boohoo-fest.
Chris lifted her head, gave up, let it drop back on the pillow.
Nothing helped. She was simply...
Exhausted.
* * *
THE SUN’S GLOWING disk disappeared over the horizon. Eva hauled her cell out of her pocket to call her sister. Born on Christmas Eve—hence their names—on the surface Chris and Eva were about as different as two souls could be, except for their shared love of all things coffee. But they still had the deep bond of most twins. Chris might not understand Eva’s off mood, but she’d be supportive and helpful, even if it was just to tell Eva to snap out of it.
Maybe that was all Eva needed.
Chris picked up immediately. “Hey, twin, how goes it?”
“Okay.” Eva frowned. “What’s wrong? You don’t sound like yourself.”
“You don’t sound like yourself, either.”
“No? Who do I sound like? Wait, don’t tell me. Scarlett Johansson.”
“I’m thinking...Eva with sharp edges. Who do I sound like?”
“Chris dulled down.”
“Tell me what’s going on?” They both spoke at once.
“You first.”
“No, you.”
Eva giggled. Just hearing her twin’s voice made her feel better. “I’m sitting on warm sand watching the sky fade from magenta to coral to pink to navy. There are palm trees behind me, waves making a great swishing sound in front of me...”
Chris snorted. “And something is wrong?”
“I know.” She grabbed a handful of sand, let it flow through her fingers. “I’m restless, not feeling peaceful. Been this way for a while, just something not quite right.”
“Time for new hair?”
Eva grinned at their joke girlie remedy for whatever was wrong. “I bought a ton of new accessories to decorate it with. Didn’t help.”
“Accessories? I’m afraid to ask what these are like.” Her sister made a shuddering noise. “Is Slow Pour doing well?”
“Not great, not bad.”
“Man trouble?”
“No man to cause any.”
“Ha. Maybe that’s your problem.”
Eva snorted. “Could be. What’s been going on with you?”
Her sister sighed. “I don’t know. Just...lethargy.”
“I can’t picture that at all. You’re usually a blur of a person.”
“I feel like I need a change.”
“Me, too.” Eva pulled her hoodie closer as the air chilled with the fading light. “I moved to California because it’s so laid-back, but sometimes it feels like nothing happens, and the nothing that happens does it really slowly.”
“That sounds like heaven.” Her sister sighed. “Everything is always happening around here, all at top speed.”
“That sounds like heaven.” Eva lay back on the sand, looking up into the night sky, and a crazy, impractical, ridiculous thought made her giggle.
“What’s so funny?”
“Since we can’t leave our shops to go on an extended vacation—maybe we should just switch lives for a month.”
Silence. Then both sisters gasped. “Oh, my God!”
1 (#ulink_2894ed5d-a874-59c9-b524-f0da0ffb4d33)
“CHRIS! I’M HERE. I’m calling from your apartment!” Eva dumped her bags in Chris’s tiny foyer, which wasn’t really more than the beginning of a narrow hallway. She’d visited her sister only once in New York, shortly after Chris moved here. Generally they saw each other in Wisconsin when they got together with their parents for the holidays.
“Let me guess. It’s much bigger than you remember.” Chris’s voice dripped sarcasm.
“Uh...not really.” Eva peeked around a corner toward the kitchen, the size of her closet, and the living room, which struggled to contain a chair, love seat and coffee table. “But it’s got so much charm!”
“Oh, is that charm? I thought charm was your house, with the plants and flowers growing everywhere and the ocean smell outside. Try and see how charming my place is in February when it’s dark and freezing for weeks on end. I can actually run from one end of your place to another. Run! It’s a real house!”
“A tiny house. Which you have to take care of.” She hoisted her bags again, phone between her chin and ear, and marched down the hall, then pushed open the first door. “Your bedroom is adorable.”
“You can barely turn around—you call that adorable? I can do jumping jacks in yours! I can see an expanse of floor! And then I can take a dozen steps and be outside! And to the beach in five minutes! No elevator, no sirens, no taxis, no—”
“Concerts or museums, no theater, no—”
“Traffic jams, no hurricanes, no impatient rude people—”
“No excitement! No energy!”
“No Ames!”
“Huh?” Eva hauled her suitcase onto the twin bed. “Who’s Ames?”
Chris made a noise of exasperation. “A regular at NYEspresso. Also an arrogant pain in the ass who doesn’t seem to hear me when I tell him I’m not interested. He’s this complete rich-boy spoiled brat who’s never heard ‘no’ in his life.”
Eva chuckled. Men came after Chris pretty regularly. All she had to do was green-light the ones she wanted and ta-da, she had a boyfriend. Eva’s quirks meant it was usually the other way around for her—she’d see someone and go after him. So far neither approach had worked long-term for the sisters, but they were happy to keep trying. “I’ll tell him you’ve eloped. Maybe he’ll fling himself off a building.”
“Please encourage him.”
“You’ll have to deal with surfer dudes and lost tourists and retired hippies who order a cup of coffee and stay for hours thinking you have nothing better to do than chat. Which, sadly, you often don’t. Though Zac will be there most days and he’s awesome.”
“So you’ve said. Though I still think your arrangement is weird. Who agrees to get married when they hit thirty only if nothing else works out?”
“We did.” She didn’t expect Chris to understand. Eva had begun to realize that while love affairs were a fabulous, fireworks-filled pleasure, when it came to choosing a life partner and future father of her children, she wasn’t going to get much better than her best male friend, Zac, master’s candidate at Cal Poly and regular at Slow Pour. It was precisely because they didn’t burn so hot that she knew he’d be a good solid match, one that actually lasted.
But they still had a year and a half before that commitment. And as much as she adored Zac and he adored her, neither of them had yet given up hope they could find another soul mate they could also be frantic to tangle up the sheets with.
“At NYEspresso you’ll have to deal with people screaming at you because you aren’t moving fast enough or the line isn’t moving fast enough. People act as if you’re put on the planet only to serve them.”
“I look forward to the challenge.”
Chris giggled. “I can’t believe we’re doing this!”
“What, turning our hometowns into horrific stereotypes?”
“Well, yes, but I meant switching lives. Are you heading over to NYEspresso tonight?”
“Uh-huh.” Eva couldn’t wait to be in the place, knowing it was hers, however temporarily. “I think I can just make it over there before closing.”
Chris snorted. “Yeah, figure how much time you’ll need realistically, then add half an hour for delays and waiting and crowds and—”
“At least I get to go somewhere.” At home her commute was down the hill and around a corner. Not a lot of sights to take in. “I want to meet your staff, make sure they’re ready to have me take over for a month.”
“They’ll be thrilled. I’ve been such a bitch lately.”
“You?” Eva scoffed. “Never!”
“Uh-huh. You take care, twin.”
“You, too.” Eva hung up the phone, bursting with excitement. Traffic and street noise reached her window. Civilization actually happened here—this was real life! She couldn’t wait to get started. But first, deep breaths, a little meditation to get the nerves under control, calm her down so she didn’t appear too frazzled when she met her crew at NYEspresso.
She sat cross-legged on the scuffed hardwood floor and closed her eyes, loosened her consciousness from her surroundings, swaying slightly to keep herself off balance, clearing her mind, trying to connect to the wise voice deep inside her that never failed to—
The apartment door burst open, making her jump. Must be Chris’s roommate, new since Eva had last visited. Natalie worked near NYEspresso and had mentioned to Chris one day that she needed a roommate. According to Chris, Natalie was either trying to get into bed with a guy or getting kicked out of bed by a guy in one of the most misguided searches for love Chris had ever seen, but she was good-hearted—once she got to know you.
Eva was totally curious to meet her.
“Yeah? Well, screw you, Edward.” Heels clunked furiously down the hallway. “Yeah? You really think that? Dream on, buddy, and guess what, you suck in bed.”
Uh. That was not a person connected to her wise inner voice.
“No, let me tell you, you son-of-a— Oh. Hi.” She stopped outside Eva’s doorway, nearly six feet of stunning brunette, who probably weighed less than Eva, all of five-four. “I’ll call you back, Edward. No? Well, fine. I won’t. Ever. Up yours.”
“Hi.” Eva was having a hard time not giggling. Not that no one ever got pissed in Carmia, but that tirade seemed so New York to her.
“You’re Chris’s sister.” Natalie looked Eva over curiously, taking in the turquoise ballet flats and tiered floral skirt, up to her colorful layers of loose-fitting tops, multiple ear piercings and assortment of butterfly clips in her hair. “She wasn’t kidding. You’re her total opposite.”
“Close to it.” Eva sat as tall as possible, looking Natalie over right back, from her black ankle boots over crimson leggings and black microskirt under a stylish wrapped coat with big leather fastenings, then to top it off, a wide-brimmed black hat. The epitome of fashion chic. She and Chris must turn every head in New York when they went out together.
“You meditating or something?”
“Yes.” Eva smiled. “It keeps me centered and calm. You might want to—”
“Uh-huh.” Natalie didn’t smile back. “My stuff in the refrigerator is marked, and I need the bathroom from five to six a.m. every morning.”
“Not a problem.” Eva bunched her mouth to keep from smirking. Nice to meet you, too. “So you work for an interior design place?”
“Oh. Yeah.” She said it as if it was the most boring job in the world. “I guess.”
“How’s that?”
“It’s okay.” She glanced at her watch, obviously anxious to move on.
Perversely, this made Eva want to keep her talking. “How long have you lived in New York?”
“Forever.”
“Your parents, too? What did they do here?”
Her demeanor thawed a tiny bit. “Mom was a Broadway chorister. Dad is a music professor at Juilliard.”
“Wow! Cool family. Are you musical?”
Natalie leaned against the doorjamb, though her body stayed stiff. “I played clarinet for a bunch of years and took dance lessons. Had a few parts in school plays and musicals, nothing big. I still love going to shows. I probably saw all of them growing up.”
“That’s great.” Eva studied her new roommate, wondering how much further she could pry. “So I’m sorry about the awkward conversation with Edward.”
“He’s a jerk. They’re all jerks.” Natalie shoved away from the door. “I gotta go get ready. I have a date.”
“Oh.” Eva frowned in confusion. “Not with Edward...”
Natalie gave her a withering stare. “As. If.”
“Ah. Well, okay, then.” Eva waved cheerfully. “Have fun with whoever.”
Natalie stalked off.
Eva was pretty sure they’d never be best friends.
And it was a little hard to continue her meditation with her new not-best-friend crashing and muttering around the apartment, but Eva did the best she could. At least when she stood again, she felt more centered, less scattered, though still eager to get to NYEspresso.
Just under an hour later, Eva was standing outside her sister’s shop on Tenth Avenue and West Forty-Third Street in the up-and-coming neighborhood of Hudson Yards. Yes, she’d misjudged how long it took to get there, but the store didn’t close for an hour yet, and what a smorgasbord of faces and auras and interactions to keep her entertained during the walk and subway rides!
Around her was a population in suits, jeans and office casual, mostly denim and black, practically everyone in dark shades, and her in her wild flowery skirt and magenta hoodie. Not that anyone gave her a second glance. You could get away with pretty much any look in this town.
She pushed open the front door and was immediately hit by her favorite smell in the world—second only to the aroma of roasting beans—freshly brewed coffee.
NYEspresso was different than she remembered, though it had been over a year since she’d visited. Chris had obviously put her own stamp on the place after buying it from the previous owners with the money she and Eva had come into at age twenty-five from wealthy grandparents on their mom’s side. The space was sparer than it had been, more efficiently organized, with snappy clear plastic seats and bright white oval tables with chrome supports. The counter was also bright white, a long, sharp rectangle with ordering and cashier service at the far end and pastry behind a glass case closer to the entrance. The walls had been painted deep red and left bare except for white glass sconces surrounded by black iron cages that looked like chain mail.
Chic. Edgy. Not the most relaxing space. But this wasn’t Carmia, this was Manhattan.
Eva approached the counter with a smile, held out her hand to the barista on duty, a handsome kid with three eyebrow rings and a necklace tattoo, whom she vaguely remembered had a weird nickname. “Hey, there. I’m Eva. Chris’s sister.”
“Yeah, hey. How are you?” Only with his thick New York accent it sounded like Ha-wa-ya? “I’m Jinx.”
“Jinx, right. Just stopping in to say hi tonight. I’ll be on the bar officially in the morning.”
“Cool. Glad to have you. It’s cool what you and Chris worked out.” He looked toward the door and rolled his eyes. “Oh, brother, here we go.”
Eva swung around. A large bouquet of flowers was walking toward her on male legs.
Jinx snorted. “The dude does not give up.”
The flowers lowered.
Eva’s heart stopped. Okay, not really—that would be ridiculous, because she’d collapse—but it sure felt as if everything inside her and in the whole world had paused to note this auspicious occasion.
Thick, short, dark hair that looked as if he’d tried hard to style it but the strands refused to lie flat. Deep brown eyes under dark brows. High cheekbones, a lean jaw. Full mouth, with a faint groove on either side. The shadow of masculine stubble. A small gold stud in one ear. Expensive dark suit, subtly patterned silk tie in blue, burgundy and beige. Gold watch. Perfectly shined shoes.
That was him. Her soul mate. Her man, her One Great Love Eternal, acronym OGLE.
Or at least he was her next hot fling.
“Chris here?” Her soul mate put the flowers on the counter, glancing at Eva before he addressed Jinx. She was used to making no impression on a guy like this. But that wouldn’t last long,
“Chris is not.” Jinx beckoned over another customer. Clearly he wasn’t a fan.
The perfect man yanked an iPhone from his pocket and poked at it.
“Hi.” Eva stepped forward, her hand out. “I’m Chris’s sister, Eva.”
“Uh-huh.” He continued to peer at his phone, reading intently.
“The woman you’re going to marry. We’ll have beautiful children. I’m thinking five or six. We should get started on that soon, since I’m already twenty-eight.”
He lifted his head suddenly. Their eyes locked. Well, hers locked. He kind of glanced at her, then did a double take, like, What are you looking at? “Sorry, what were you saying?”
“Nothing important.” She smiled sweetly, held out her hand again. Just concerning the rest of our lives together. Or, more likely, the rest of the month. “You were busy.”
He made a sound of frustration. “Sometimes I’m not sure if I own the phone or it owns me.”
“What’s your name?” She’d bet this was—
“Ames Cooke.”
Yup. The pain in Chris’s lucky ass. The entitled, arrogant rich boy, who Chris had neglected to mention was devastatingly sexy.
Was he cocky businessman through and through? He certainly looked the part, but there was that gold stud glinting in one ear, and his slightly spiked hair. She was already thinking maybe a tattoo in a hidden place.
A place she couldn’t wait to discover.
“You visiting?” Ames was looking around, undoubtedly still hoping Chris would emerge from the back of the shop.
“I’m taking over for Chris for a month.”
His attention zoomed back to her. “Chris? What’s wrong? Where is she?”
Look how nice of him to be concerned. A thoughtful guy. “She’s at my place in California. We switched lives for a month.”
“You switched—” Ames was clearly having trouble processing that one. But maybe the fact that his supposed beloved had left town without letting him know would help him understand that he and Chris were not destined to be together forever.
Whereas he and Eva...
At least for a month.
“Well, crap.” He stared forlornly at the flowers, a stunning and almost laughably huge bouquet of pink roses, burgundy and white alstroemeria, white tulips, freesia and God knew what else.
“You could take them back to the shop. Or leave them here.” Eva gestured around. “A little color and life wouldn’t hurt.”
“Oh.” He stared as if he’d forgotten her. “Yeah, okay.”
“Thank you.” She took the vase into her arms as if she were cradling a baby and beamed at him. “So what are you doing tonight, Ames?”
As she expected, he looked startled, glanced at his watch, face reddening slightly. “I’m due at... I’m... I have...”
“Wow. That sounds fabulous.”
He laughed in surprise.
“I just arrived today from California, so I’m going to take it easy tonight.” She put the vase on the counter over the pastry. “Maybe order takeout, because I hear you can get anything delivered in this city.”
“True.”
She threw him a flirty look over her shoulder. “Even you?”
“Even me what?”
“If I was home bored and wanted company, could I order you for delivery?”
“I don’t...” He took a step back. “That is...”
Eva waved dismissively and moved the vase farther down the counter. “Don’t worry, I was only flirting. Cup of coffee on the house?”
“Uh.” He laughed uncertainly. “Actually, I’m—”
“Jinx.” She inclined her head toward the barista. “Give this man whatever he wants.”
“Okay.” Jinx stared coolly at Ames. “What’ll it be?”
“Hmm?” Ames was lost in poking at his cell again. “Uh...a red eye. Room at the top. To go.”
Eva took half a step closer to him. “We call those hammerheads in California.”
“Really?”
“Really.” She grinned at him. He was so adorable and so innocently unaware of the nights of hot sex that lay in store for him over the next month—and possibly forever. “And in the upper Midwest, where I grew up, it’s called a depth charge.”
“Okay.”
Eva folded her arms across her chest. “So what do you do in this fabulous city, Ames?”
He muttered something, jabbing away at the little letters.
“Ames.” Eva put her hand on his arm and pushed gently down.
“Huh?” He looked up at her. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”
“I asked what you do in New York.”
“I’m sales manager for Boyce Wines, a distributor based here in New York. We import from exclusive small family vineyards in Italy and France.”
“Cool job. So you know a ton about wine.”
“I guess.” He shrugged and put his cell in his pocket, staring at her curiously. “Do you?”
“Just coffee.” She took another step toward him, caught a whiff of his fresh masculine aftershave. “How did you get into that?”
“Dad owns a wine shop.”
“Yeah? Where?”
“New Jersey.” He edged toward the pickup area of the counter. “Are you this nosy with all your customers?”
“Nosy?” She sent him an odd look. “In California we call this conversation. They don’t do that here?”
“Sorry.” He had the grace to look embarrassed. “Been a tough day. So, California, huh?”
“Central Coast.” She tipped her head, smiling alluringly. “Good wine country.”
“Absolutely.”
“Red eye. Room at the top.” Jinx plunked the container on the counter.
“Sorry about your tough day.” Eva folded her arms. “Want to talk about it?”
“I’m sure you have business to do.” He reached for the cup.
“If I did, would I be offering to talk to you?”
“Ah.” Ames rolled his eyes, smiling. “You are Chris’s sister, after all. Or at least you have her sharp reflexes.”
“Thank you.” Eva frowned at the flowers, beautiful but oddly old-fashioned on the severe counter, as if the only flowers appropriate to the space would be square. “Have you ever meditated?”
“Uh. No. Listen, it was nice to—”
“It’s great on a stressful day. You should totally try it.”
“Mmm, not interested. Thanks.”
“Doesn’t hurt to try.” She touched a spot on his forehead just above his brows, where Buddhists believed the third eye existed. He froze in horror, staring up at her finger, which made him sort of cross-eyed, but still incredibly sexy. Eva willed him to look at her, which he did, proving they had a deep connection. Or that he felt like looking at her just then. Their eyes held—both sets that time—and the adrenaline thrill was so strong she could barely get herself to continue. “It’s amazing how calm and peaceful you can feel, while at the same time energized and clear. It’s so different from how we usually operate, rushing around coping with external stuff and worries, ignoring our instincts.”
He blinked. “Uh, yeah.”
“And...” She lowered her voice, drew her finger down the bridge of his very fine nose. “Meditating is also a very sensuous experience. You hear and see and feel and taste and touch the world in a whole new way when your mind is at peace.”
The very delicious Ames swallowed audibly, then took a sudden step back, glancing at his watch. “Listen, thanks for the coffee. I really need to go.”
“Sure, sure. You don’t want to be late for your whatever.” Somehow she kept her lips from twitching. “It was nice meeting you.”
“Yeah. Same here.” He turned and headed for the door.
“Ames!”
He turned reluctantly back, looking annoyed. “What?”
Eva pointed to the milk, sugar and stir station. “Room in your cup?”
“Oh. Right.” He strode over and splashed milk into his coffee, jammed on a lid and rushed out of the shop.
She watched him go, hugging her hoodie around herself, a smile playing on her lips. What an amazing day this had turned out to be. She’d met her next true love, Ames Cooke, who didn’t seem to realize they were meant to be.
The poor guy wasn’t going to know what hit him.
2 (#ulink_89372741-bb90-5893-a323-7bca033b296f)
CHRIS WALKED DOWN the hill from Eva’s house, turned left onto La Playa Avenue and walked about fifty feet to Slow Pour. That was it! No trudging down windy cement sidewalks in the cold, with grit blowing into her eyes, no waiting for the subway in a pee-smelling tunnel, no swaying among sullen, silent strangers, then waiting in another tunnel for another train among more strangers...
In Carmia she could stroll to work in five minutes without a coat, and the smell was of ocean and earth. Not to mention Eva’s store opened at seven instead of six, so she got to sleep nearly two hours later than in New York.
This was so fabulous!
Grinning like a fool, she navigated the assortment of colorful mismatched tables, which Eva had salvaged and painted herself. Outdoor tables in October!
Still smiling, she pushed into the shop. The place was adorable, homey, crowded, slightly shabby and very personal. On the sunny yellow walls were rainforest murals over which Eva had hung pictures of young Eva and Chris at coffee plantations throughout the world, and paintings by local artists that she sold from the shop. On an orange side counter were organic soaps, jewelry and cellophane bags of handmade chocolates, also the work of Carmia residents. Rotating stands held postcards and Slow Pour tote bags, T-shirts and hats. Behind the main service counter Eva had mounted a blue surfboard on which she’d attached a whiteboard with the day’s specialties scrawled across it in colored inks. Where the glass case at Chris’s shop housed croissants, brioche, Japanese sweet buns, traditional English scones and Irish soda bread, Eva’s held banana bread, carrot muffins, house-made granola bars and whole-grain pecan spice rolls.
Only one customer was inside, not surprising on such a beautiful day—a blond guy staring at the paper, which he abruptly put down when she walked in, and stared at her instead.
Rude.
She ignored him, walked to the counter, held out her hand to the petite blonde barista wearing an aqua tank top over the kind of light tan Chris was planning to acquire as soon as possible. This must be Summer. Her hair was wild and bleached by the sun, her eyes brown and friendly.
“Hey, there!” Her face broke into a warm smile, showing frighteningly white teeth. “Chris, am I right?”
“Yes, you are.” She felt pale and drab in her charcoal shorts and beige cotton sweater. “Hi, Summer.”
“I knew it.” Summer looked so happy Chris felt slightly uncomfortable. “It is so great to meet you! Welcome to California!”
“It’s great to be here. I’m just stopping by as a customer today, to say hello.”
“I’m so glad you did!” She gestured to the surfboard menu. “Melinda is on the register this afternoon, but she had a doctor appointment. Can I get you something? I’ll make it to go. You should totally go to the beach this afternoon.”
“I was going to ask to look at the schedule and your sales data for—”
“Nah, go to the beach!” The guy at the table had the nerve to butt in. “You can look at sales stuff tomorrow.”
Chris turned, incredulous at the interruption. “Uh, yeah, thanks.”
“He’s an everyday regular.” Summer spoke under her breath, giving the guy a stunning smile.
“Gotcha,” Chris murmured. She knew what that meant. No pissing off the good customer. She turned with a chilly smile. “I’m Chris. I’ll be managing the—”
“Eva’s sister.”
“Yes.” She had a sinking feeling this jerk was Zac, the guy Eva was planning to marry if nothing else worked out. Her sister’s taste in men...well, it was pretty bad. Chris hadn’t found Mr. Forever yet, either, but at least her relationships were counted in months and years, not days and weeks. And she never dived into one without looking or thinking, the way her sister always did.
“I’m Zac.” He looked her over in a way that set her teeth on edge. “Wow. For a twin, you are nothing like Eva.”
Was that a compliment or an insult? She didn’t want him to think she cared either way. “I hear that a lot.”
He stood and held out his hand, blue eyes crinkling in the corners, blond hair a few shades darker than Summer’s. He was taller than she expected, and hot, in a California surfer-dude kind of way. Totally not her type. “I hear you’re going to be around awhile.”
“Just a month.” She turned back to Summer. “I’ll have a red eye, or whatever you call them here—coffee with a shot of espresso. And those reports? If you want, you can tell me where they are and I can get them.”
“No, no, it’s no problem at all.” Summer stepped over to the espresso machine. “They’re easy to find.”
“You should get more sleep.”
Chris stiffened, unable to believe Zac had just said that to her. “What?”
“Red eyes are caffeine on top of caffeine. If you treat your body well, it will give you all the energy you need on a lot fewer artificial stimulants.”
“Yeah, okay, thanks, that’s good to know.” She groaned silently. This guy made Ames seem like a sweetheart. Too bad, because he looked like a more rugged version of Chris Hemsworth, aka Thor. But if he was a regular here, Chris would either have to learn how to handle him or tune him out—or have him abducted by aliens.
“Forget the sales reports.” Zac put his hands on his hips, covered by worn jeans, which fit pretty fabulously, if you were prone to noticing stuff like that. Over them he wore a Dive and Surf T-shirt with a picture of a shark carrying a surfboard that had a huge bite taken out of it. “You should nap on the beach. You’re probably jet-lagged and your body needs—”
“You know, I’m not really a nap-on-the-beach kind of girl.” She balanced the acid in her tone with a smile as genuine as she could make it and stepped closer to the counter. “But thanks, really. I appreciate your concern.”
“Sure.” He didn’t move. “Do you surf?”
“No!” She laughed. “Not a whole lot of that rolling in on Manhattan.”
“You want to learn?”
“No. No, thanks.” She tried to look politely regretful, but wanted to ask what he was smoking. Though this being mellow California, she might not want to know.
“I bet I can change your mind.”
“Huh.” She had to bite her cheek to keep from shouting at him. “Actually, it would be great if you didn’t.”
“I’ll get those reports.” Summer thumped Chris’s red eye on the counter and disappeared into the back of the store, practically at a run.
“So you got sick of the big city, huh?”
Did he ever shut up? Chris turned back, arms folded. “What makes you think that?”
“Eva told me. I promised I’d help with your transition.”
“Oh. Thanks, that is so nice.” She wrinkled her nose. “But I’m an independent type. I’d rather find my own way around.”
“Message received.” He held up his hands, took a few steps back. “Not a problem.”
Whew. He did have an off button. She breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks anyway.”
“Here you go.” Summer handed the reports across the counter. “Everything should be there.”
“Thanks, Summer.” She left the store and stopped outside, face turned up to the sun, enjoying its warmth. Eva would have to fill her in on the best way to handle Zac. In the meantime, one of these tables out here was calling her name.
Ten seconds after she’d settled and opened the sales report, a Zac-shaped shadow fell over her table. “Chris. Do me a favor.”
Her stomach sank. The guy was a serious pest. “What’s that?”
“Follow me. If you don’t like what I’m going to show you, you can come back here.”
Her stomach twisted with irritation. “I’m fine. Really.”
“Look here.” He held his cell out in front of her nose. When she managed to focus, she saw a text. From her sister.
Zac is awesome. Go with him. Trust me.
“How did you—” Chris looked up in bewilderment, into his very blue eyes that were watching her with amusement, which made her want to growl again. “I thought you two had decided not to be in touch this month.”
“This was an emergency.”
Chris shut the report, praying for patience, and stood, radiating hostility she couldn’t help. “Okay, show me. But so help me, if this spot isn’t paradise on earth, I’ll—”
“It is.” He ambled across the sidewalk, not looking to see if she’d follow.
She did, but not willingly. In fact, during the walk she was wondering if there was anything she could put in his coffee that would keep him in bed for oh, say, exactly a month.
Down La Playa they moseyed toward the Pacific. Could he not move any faster? Chris had to shorten her steps so she didn’t pass him, and her legs were shorter than his. What was he waiting for? Did he think she couldn’t keep up? That she was some dainty flower? Forget that, she did triathlons every summer.
When she was just about ready to put a hand to his broad back and shove to make him go faster, they reached the end of the line of buildings and turned toward the beach.
Okay, okay, it was beautiful. Really beautiful. A peaceful expanse of sand flattened smooth by waves. On either side, rocky cliffs topped with sparse green growth and low trees. Zac led her on a short stroll across the sand, then up a steep path to the top of the cliff on the north side.
She followed him to a spot between two scrubby bushes, where a table and bench had been set up so the occupants would be sheltered while still being able to take in the Pacific, the cliffs and the mountains behind.
“Wow.” Chris put her hands on her hips, shaking her head in defeat. “You were right. It’s perfect.”
Zac shrugged his broad shoulders. “Seemed to me you can’t improve on much when you’re reading sales reports, but this might do it.”
“It’s beautiful. Thanks for showing me. I’ll appreciate the quiet and privacy.” She brightened her voice and put the report on the table with her coffee, praying he’d get the hint and leave her alone.
“Just you and the beautiful Central Coast.” He lifted his hand for a high five. “Be at peace.”
Chris slapped his palm. Whatever. He was going. “Thanks.”
“See ya around.”
She managed a noncommittal “Mmm.” The second he was out of earshot, she furiously dialed her sister.
“Eva! What did you let me in for?”
“What do you mean?”
“This Zac person. He’s horrible.”
“Zac? Horrible?”
Chris rolled her eyes. She adored her sister, but sometimes she was much too...tolerant. Especially of guys. “He practically jumped down my throat. Told me I shouldn’t drink red eyes, that I shouldn’t read sales reports, shouldn’t sit at the Slow Pour...”
“Oh, but isn’t it gorgeous there where he took you? The cliff seat above Aura Beach, right? I told him he should.”
Chris wrinkled her nose, gazing around her at the wide, endless ocean. “Well...yes, it’s gorgeous.”
“He wanted you to be happy.”
“That’s not the point. I was perfectly happy sitting outside at Slow Pour.”
“Aren’t you happier now?”
“No, I’m completely exasperated with him. And you!”
Eva giggled, making Chris smile. “He’s a good guy, I promise.”
“So what’s he going to do, come in every day and tell me how to live my life?”
“Probably,” Eva said cheerfully.
“Great.” Chris rolled her eyes. “Out of Ames’s frying pan and into Zac’s fire.”
“Ooh, into Zac’s fire. Sounds like a sexy title. And speaking of sexy, you forgot to mention that Ames is a total hottie.”
“Yeah...” Chris lifted her chin, letting the sun have at her face again. “He is kind of hot.”
“Mmm.” Eva sighed.
“Do not get any ideas. The guy’s a narcissist. Not your type at all.” It immediately occurred to her that Ames was Eva’s type, since she invariably went for guys who were wrong for her. But that didn’t mean she had to do it again.
“No? We’ll see. Now sit down and enjoy the ocean for an hour or two.”
“An hour or two? Staring at waves?” She snorted. “Not me. But it is a beautiful place to work.”
“Chris, you just arrived! Enjoy the place!”
“I am enjoying it. It’s stunning up here. Now leave me alone while I study your sales reports.”
“You are hopeless.”
“I know.” She ended the call reminding her sister of a couple of restaurant suggestions in her neighborhood on Eighty-Seventh Street, and settled back with her report.
Hmm. Sales okay, fairly steady, but not really taking off. Looked a lot like her own track record in New York, except most of Eva’s traffic occurred midmorning and midafternoon, NYEspresso’s dead times. In a place like—
“Whoa, sorry, man. Didn’t realize someone was here.”
Chris looked up, startled. She hadn’t heard anyone com—
Oh, my God.
Dark windblown hair. Blue eyes. Shorts and T-shirt revealing a gorgeous body. Warm, white-toothed smile. The hottest guy she’d ever seen.
Her heart launched into triple time. She was unable to speak or return his smile, just sat there staring in a flood of hormones.
When was the last time a guy had affected her like this? Not John, not Rob, not even Steve, her most serious boyfriend. This crazy, overwhelming reaction was a first. What did it mean?
Something really good.
She took a deep breath and indicated the other half of the table. “Have a seat. There’s plenty of room.”
3 (#ulink_9a36dedf-ecf6-5cf9-ade7-a5f77d466a9f)
“GUY CHAUMONT PINOT Noir. Three cases? Four? Like last time. Okay, glad you enjoyed it.” Ames scribbled on his notepad. “He’s got an excellent Chardonnay, too. Twenty-ten, a classic dry Burgundy, with apple and melon notes, great with vegetarian and vegan dishes. Want me to bring a bottle when I see you Thursday? Okay, good. And the Chateau Moulin Bordeaux, too? Excellent. Nice talking with you and I’ll see you Thursday at two. Right. Bye.”
Ames tossed his pen onto the desk in the office he’d set up in one of his condo’s extra bedrooms. Working from home was one of the greatest perks of his job and also one of its greatest challenges. Days like today, when he was restless and irritated, there was no one else around to bring him out of it except Jean, his Tuesdays-and-Thursdays cleaning woman, cook and sometimes assistant, who was convinced he couldn’t live without her. She might be right. But her way of bringing him out of a funk was to tell him exactly how he was living his life wrong.
Didn’t seem to help.
Finding out that Chris Meyer had left New York and flown about as far away over land as possible without telling him hurt more than Ames had expected. He’d been settling in for a slow and steady campaign to win her, and had thought he might be making some progress. To put it mildly, this didn’t look good.
He pulled his laptop closer and brought up the file on Manhattan Vine, one of the biggest chains of liquor stores in the city, an account he’d singlehandedly landed for Boyce Wines, a coup that had been instrumental in getting him promoted in the venerable company. He’d spent the morning visiting retailers to check signage and point-of-purchase placement and probing managers for their openness to hosting wine-tasting events. He was thinking some of Manhattan Vine’s east-side stores might be a good place to push Boyce’s higher-priced wines now that the midlevel bottles had done pretty well.
Funny, the second he’d laid eyes on Chris he’d felt a pull, as if she was familiar somehow, as if he already knew her and it was only a matter of getting through the formalities of preliminary dates before they’d be together in a way Ames felt certain would be significant. He’d felt that way only once before about a woman and had ended up dating Sarah for four years before they came to a mutual realization that it was time to commit or break up, and they’d both chosen the latter.
In the intervening years, he’d dated casually here and there, but either he didn’t fit her ideal or she didn’t fit his. Until he saw Chris and felt so strongly that she had it all. Yes, she’d been reluctant, but he’d dealt with reluctance before and had overcome it with patience and low-key persistence.
This time...not so much.
Her crazy sister, though—man, that woman was...something else. Eva had looked at Ames as if he was her next meal. No, not quite that. More as if he was her favorite dessert. She’d made him uncomfortable, uneasy and also weirdly curious. Underneath all the look-at-me trappings she was attractive, and seemed spirited and funny. But definitely not his type the way her sister was. Beautiful, elegant, sophisticated, Chris was the kind of woman a guy could take anywhere and she’d fit right in, from a baseball game to one of the high-end restaurants and wine bars he frequented for business and pleasure. At the end of the month he’d hoped to take her to Boyce’s annual dinner at La Grenouille Laide, one of New York’s finest restaurants, and the company’s most formal and important event, to which all their best clients and top sales people were invited. Delores, Mike Boyce’s battle-ax secretary, had been on him to RSVP.
A reminder popped up on his laptop to call the Restless Armadillo restaurant, which hadn’t placed an order in a while. He picked up his phone.
“I hope you’re not staying home working again tonight.” Jean, tiny and tough, about as New York as a person could get, never missed an opportunity to criticize everything possible about him. He adored her.
“How do you know I was home working last night?”
She tapped her temple. “I know.”
“I have to work, Jean.” He shook his head mournfully. “I have this really expensive assistant who all but drains my bank account every month.”
“I’m playing the violin, boohoo. You’re still young—what are you, thirty?”
“Thirty-three.”
“Single and home at night. Sheesh.” She threw up her hands. “I’m telling you, you’re a catch. Even Manny says he’d date you. You should be out there finding someone to make you happy.”
“Uh.” He pretended distaste. “Your husband isn’t really my type...”
“He’s kidding, he’s kidding. But I’m not.” She put her hands on her hips and glared at him, dark eyes enormous through her thick glasses. “Go out tonight. This stuff you’re doing will keep. Your youth won’t. You need to live.”
“It’s four o’clock. I need to get my work done so I can—”
The apartment phone rang, interrupting their latest standoff.
“I’ll get it.” She sent Ames a by now familiar look of disgust and stomped into the living room. “Hello?...Oh, hey, Frank....Uh-huh....Really?”
Ames stretched at his desk. Frank was the doorman. Probably letting them know about another change in the garbage pickup schedule.
“Sure, I’ll hold.” Jean appeared in the doorway of his office, phone held to her ear. “You expecting someone?”
“Nope.”
“Maybe God answered my prayer and FedEx sent a nice single woman whose shift is just ending.”
“Not expecting a package, either.”
“You— Yes, Frank....Who?...Oh, I see....Is she pretty?...Young?...Uh-huh....Oh, she does?...Okay, sure, send her up.”
“What was that?”
Jean ended the call triumphantly. “I got you a date.”
“You what?”
“You heard me.” Jean disappeared from sight into the living room.
“Who is it?” he called after her.
“Someone you know, don’t worry. She’s on her way up.” Jean reappeared wearing her coat and a Yankees ball cap. “Anything you want me to do before I leave you to your wild night?”
“Yes.” He stood behind his desk, hands on his hips, exasperated and a little curious. He couldn’t think of any female friend who’d drop by during business hours without calling first. They all knew better. “Intercept whoever it is and tell her sorry, I’m busy, and to call first next time.”
“Look at you all grumpy over a woman.” Jean scowled at him. “You’re a big boy, you tell her. I’m gone.”
Ames rolled his eyes, more amused than annoyed. The visitor could be his college friend Kathy, back from a European tour. He’d lost track of her return date. Still, it would be strange of her not to call first.
The apartment doorbell rang. Jean’s footsteps thudded over to get it.
“She’s here already. The girl moves fast. I like her already.” The front door opened. “Hello. I’m Jean Kajowski, Ames’s hot live-in girlfriend. Just kidding. I keep house for him a couple days a week, though he doesn’t like me calling it that. Don’t worry, I was just leaving.”
“Hi, Jean, nice to meet you.” The voice was musical, sweet and vaguely familiar. “I’m Eva Meyer.”
Ames sat back down abruptly. Eva was here? At his condo? How had she found his address?
“Hi, Eva. Oh, my God, your boots are adorable!” Jean was clearly smitten. “Come in, come in. He’s in the office, probably shy. But he’s not busy tonight, so don’t let him tell you that he is. I’m off—bye you two.”
Ames turned his eyes to the ceiling. Give him strength. “Bye, Jean, see you Thursday.”
“Only if I live that long.” The door closed behind her standard response.
Ames blinked at his office door. He could get up. But she’d stalked him here—she could come in on her own.
“Hi, Ames.” Eva appeared at his doorway, smiling pleasantly, as if there was nothing strange about barging into his home when she’d met him for all of five minutes the day before. She wore a violently pink skirt under a bright green shirt and crazy floral sweater. Her chunky boots laced up to midcalf and were shiny fluorescent-green. She had about five earrings in each ear and an armful of jangling colored bracelets.
His eyes hurt just looking at her.
He stood. Picked up a pen. Put it down. She made him very uneasy. Staring at him with those bright blue eyes. He felt...he felt...
He didn’t know what he felt. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought you might want to take me out tonight, since I’m new in the city.” She lifted her eyebrows as if she had every right to expect an enthusiastic response.
“You—” Ames could barely take that in. “What made you think that? Don’t you have to work?”
“My shift ended at two.” She seemed totally comfortable in herself, not broadcasting any sense that her behavior was at all unusual. “I already stayed late for a couple of hours, catching up on things and getting to know more staff. Then I’d had enough. You can only take in so much new information, you know? So I came here.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know anyone else, really.”
“Eva.” Something was painfully misfiring under that bizarre hairstyle—randomly hiked up all over her head with multicolored combs that looked as if they were taking bites out of her scalp. “You don’t know me, either.”
“What better way to get started?” She smiled, looking around his office. Her mouth was generous, like her sister’s, lips full, teeth slightly crooked. “Nice place. Totally fancy.”
“Yeah, thanks.” He should tell her to get lost now, before she got any more weird ideas.
“Here.” She laid a NYEspresso bag on the table. “I brought you a cookie and a bag of espresso beans.”
His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “How do you know I have an espresso machine?”
“Well...” She tilted her head to one side. A tattoo he hadn’t noticed before rested at the base of her neck. She stood too far off for him to tell what it was. “Don’t you?”
Ames cleared his throat. He had a reputation among his friends for being able to read women and communicate with them exceptionally well, both as friends and lovers. But with this woman he felt like a junior-high dork. “Yes. I do.”
“Then you’ll enjoy it. Very fresh, delivered this morning. Chris’s special blend—Brazil with Ethiopia for some bite.” She hoisted her hot-pink bag farther onto her shoulder and went to examine the books in his bookcase. “So where should we go? Chris and I have done the big tourist things, Empire State, Statue of Liberty, Times Square, Rockefeller Center, etc., but I would love to get to know some neighborhoods. Any favorites?”
He was out of his element here. Somehow she’d maneuvered him into feeling he’d be rude to ask her to leave. Yet he had every right to.
“You know, Eva, tonight might not be the best—”
“Jean said you weren’t busy.” She turned around holding Jamie Goode’s The Science of Wine.
“Uh...”
“Oh, I see. You just don’t want to go.” She put the book back and approached his desk, mouth bunched slightly. “That’s fine. I just thought it would be fun for both of us. Especially if you don’t get out much.”
“What makes you think I don’t get out much?”
Again that head tilt. She was close enough now he could see the tattoo was a tiny hummingbird. “Did you go out last night?”
“Not last night, but—”
“Night before?”
“No, not then, but—”
“Night before that?” She was enjoying this—her face was solemn, but her eyes were sparkling with fun.
He put his fists on his hips and glared at her.
Eva burst into laughter and shielded her face with her hands. “No, no, not the death-ray eyes. I was teasing you. Listen, I get that you’re not interested. That’s fine.”
“Okay.” He felt profound relief. And also...not. He dealt with it by picking up his pen again.
“By that I mean...” Her eyebrows lifted; the sparkle hadn’t left her eyes. “That I’m fine going out with men who aren’t interested.”
This time he laughed. She might be a crazed stalker, but she was appealing in her own eccentric way, and obviously intelligent. “You’re very determined.”
“Hmm, how funny, Chris says the same about you.”
He barely avoided blushing. “I guess she would.”
“If you want my advice...”
“Not really.”
Eva waggled her finger. “You need to give up on that. She’s not going to change her mind.”
Ames’s jaw tightened. Disappointment and embarrassment that Eva and Chris had obviously been talking about what an annoyance he was.
He’d been so sure about Chris, had pictured her in his future, and it had felt natural and right.
Yeah, well, to hell with that.
“I’m sorry, Ames. I know you...cared for her in some way.”
Her sympathy triggered an outraged testosterone rush. He did not need pity. He was not a pathetic, lovelorn geek who failed in pursuit of women, nor was he a dork who stayed home every night working.
He threw his pen down. “I guess if we’re going, we better get started.”
“Oh, good!” Eva’s face lit up. “I am in a totally adventurous mood. Where shall we go?”
“Greenwich Village,” He answered immediately, hoping he hadn’t just doomed himself to an exhausting and unbearable evening. But Greenwich Village was one of his favorite parts of New York, full of charm and the unexpected. Like Eva. She’d fit in fine there in her wild colors and crazy hair, because nobody didn’t fit in there. And he was unlikely to bump into any important clients—or potential ones—who’d wonder why he was strolling around with a circus clown.
“I’m ready.” She hoisted her pink bag, making her dozen or so bracelets slide and clatter.
He nodded and walked out from behind his desk, stopping to let her precede him to the door.
“Hey. Ames.” She suddenly looked shy, tentative, very different from her usual brassy persona. Almost sweet. Her eyes were very blue, with dark lashes enhanced by mascara but not turned gunky, which seemed to be the style for too many women. Her eyebrows were natural, nicely arched. He could see the resemblance to Chris in the fine shape of her nose and the height of her cheekbones.
“Hey, what?”
“Thanks for doing this.”
Something weird happened in his chest, a buzz of warmth that made him forgive her for interrupting his evening and making him feel like a loser—several times over. “Just don’t make me regret it.”
“Well, but...” She flung her arms out, let them drop in frustration. “That’s half the fun!”
He couldn’t help a grin. “I can still change my mind about going out.”
“You won’t.” She preceded him out of his office. “You’re not the type of man who ever goes back on a promise.”
“Where do you get all these ideas about me?”
“I’m brilliant. By the way, this condo is huge. I swear your balcony is the size of Chris’s entire apartment. You must sell a ton of wine.”
“I do okay.” Trust her to come right out and say it. Kind of refreshing, actually. “My parents bought the condo as an investment. When they retire, they’ll want to move in.”
“I’m not big on luxury. That’s Chris’s thing.” She left his office, walking with surprising grace for someone wearing clump-around boots. “I’m an own-what-you-need kind of girl.”
“Yeah?” He kept his voice neutral. He wasn’t going to defend his choices to someone who wouldn’t understand.
“But it’s easy to be that way in the Central Coast.” She turned to look at him, walking backward for a few steps. “I have mountains and ocean all around. In this city you’d need to create space wherever and however you can.”
“True.” He opened his front door to let her pass through, taken aback. She totally understood. As much as he loved New York, claustrophobia could be a problem. Unoccupied quiet space inspired an immediate ahh of relaxation, no matter where you found it. “After you.”
“Thanks.” She moved past him into the hallway, leaving a fresh, vaguely floral scent in her wake, not sweet, not overpowering.
A great smell, actually.
He locked the door and followed her to the elevator. He could have sped to catch up with her, but there was something mesmerizing about the nicely shaped sway of her pink skirt, the energetic strides of her slender legs in dark gray tights.
What was he thinking? This was crazy stalker Eva, sister of the lost woman of his dreams.
At ground level, Eva greeted Frank as if they were long-lost friends. Ames was astonished to see the generally somber doorman beam and blush, then nod at Ames, as if he approved of his taste in women.
No, no, no. Not this woman. Not ever this woman. Boyce Wines prided itself on its high-class, conservative image. He had clients to entertain; he wanted to be promoted to vice president of sales someday, maybe get into politics. He needed a woman who was— Who looked like— Who came across—
Ugh. Was he really that shallow?
No, not shallow, practical. He had to be honest about his goals and what he was looking for. Nothing wrong with that.
They walked along Forty-Third Street to Eighth Avenue and the Port Authority subway stop. The air was crisp and energizing—fall was Ames’s favorite season. Maybe it was all those years of school, but to him September still felt like a fresh beginning.
The subway took them south to Fourteenth Street. They emerged back onto Eighth Avenue and walked farther south to Bleecker Street, where they turned to start their stroll through the Village.
The longer they walked, the more Ames had to admit he was enjoying himself. The weather was perfect, typical for October—cool but comfortable. Along the streets trees were turning colors and the buildings glowed with dark brick warmth in the fading light.
And Eva’s eagerness was catching. Ames was something of a New York history geek, and this part of town had great stories to tell. He took her down Bedford Street to see a building Walt Disney had lived in, a detour to see the unexpected and peaceful private courtyard between two houses on Grove Street, then back on Bedford for a peek at number 86, a former Prohibition-era speakeasy and favorite hangout for writers that closed in 2007 when the facade crumbled into the street. Farther on, 75½, the narrowest house in New York, a mere nine feet wide.
By the time they strolled over to Washington Square Park, the sun was down, and Ames was getting hungry. Nothing surprising about that—he’d eaten a small lunch on the go several hours earlier. What was surprising was that he didn’t want to ditch Eva and go home to eat. He wanted to keep their evening going.
“Feel like some dinner?”
“Love some.” She put a hand to her flat stomach, causing an avalanche of bracelets to crash at her wrist. “I’m ravenous.”
“You like Middle Eastern food?”
“Passionately!”
“Okay then.” He liked that she answered with such...passion. He liked her enthusiasm for everything. It was easy in this town to become cynical, always in a hurry, to stop looking around and appreciating the small things. If nothing else came out of this bizarre forced date tonight, Eva had reminded him of that, and he was grateful.
He let the way to Mamoun’s Falafel on MacDougal Street, a staggeringly popular place with minimal seating where he’d regularly stopped for late-night eats when he was a student at NYU. They bought falafel sandwiches with hummus and took them to eat on a bench in the park facing the small replica of Paris’s Arc de Triomphe.
“Oh, m’gah.” Eva spoke through a bite of falafel. “These are ’mazing!”
“Uh-huh.” He couldn’t think of another woman he knew who could talk with her mouth full and be somehow adorable.
“This whole walk has been so much fun.”
“For me, too.”
“Oh, good!” She turned and grinned at him. “So you’ll ask me out again.”
“What do you mean again?” He pretended to be mystified. “I didn’t ask you out this time. You asked me.”
“Hmm, yeah, good point.” She looked perplexed for a second, then her expressive face cleared. “You can easily fix that by asking me out the first time and then again after that.”
He snorted, getting used to her sense of humor. Enjoying it, in fact. “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”
They finished their sandwiches, commenting on the scenery, discussing more of the Village streets she should explore on her next trip. A pair of NYU students passed them, backpacks on their shoulders, in earnest discussion. After them, a gay couple walking a terrier of some kind.
“The energy here is really different from farther uptown.” Eva crumpled her sandwich paper.
“Yeah?” He refrained from rolling his eyes. The energy? This was New York, there was nothing but energy here. Who cared what kind it was?
“Funkier. Younger. More alternative. More like California.”
He bristled, as any good New Yorker would. “Eva?”
“Mmm?” She was watching a black-clad teenage couple making out. He liked the way her hummingbird clung intimately to the smooth skin of her neck.
“Let me tell you something if you want to survive your time here. Other places are like New York. New York is not like other places. Especially California.”
Eva turned to him, both eyebrows raised. He held her gaze, controlling any hint of a smile.
“Well, then. Only one thing to do.” She leaned up and kissed him full on the mouth.
His body froze. Her lips were soft and lingered longer than a brief peck, but not much.
Then she sat back, took the last bite of her sandwich and crumpled the paper while he sat there like a dork loser with a half boner. “So what do you want to do now, Ames?”
He stared at her. Who kissed someone for the first time then acted as if it hadn’t happened? How the heck did she keep catching him off balance like this? Just when he thought he’d reclaimed his terrain as Mr. Smooth?
What was he supposed to do now? Mention the kiss? Try to explain that he wasn’t looking for any kind of relationship or romance right now (the phrase with someone like you didn’t need to enter into it)? He’d look like a dork—again—making a big I’m-still-a-virgin deal over an innocent peck. Or not innocent. Didn’t matter.
But if he ignored it, he’d lose an opportunity to set her straight. In the meantime she’d asked him a question.
“Uh. We could... There’s...um... I don’t know what...”
Oh, good one, Ames. He wasn’t like this with women. Ever.
Eva sprang to her feet and held out her hand. “Let’s find a place to have dessert. Or a beer. Or in your case, wine. How’s that?”
He was surprised to find the idea appealing. “Okay, but on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“No more kissing.”
She looked astonished. “Why not?”
“Because...we’re not the kissing... We aren’t...” He broke off in utter frustration. “We’re not supposed to be doing that.”
Oh, God.
Dork!
“Ah.” She put her hands to her hips and stared down at him as if he had four heads. “I see. You are morally outraged.”
“No, no, I’m not.
“You didn’t like kissing me?”
“No, that’s not it. I mean...” He wanted to drop his head into his hands.
“Then...?”
Ames stood abruptly. “Let’s get a drink. For God’s sake.”
“What a great idea. Wish I’d thought of it.” She took his hand and swung it as they walked.
He was too grouchy to spar with her further. Her hand felt soft and warm and good in his. It had been a long time since he’d strolled holding hands with a woman. His last girlfriend, Taylor, had objected to walking that way, said it made her feel as though she was his daughter. That was strange, but whatever. Everyone had something that bugged them. Before Taylor he’d dated Patricia, who wouldn’t go out on days she’d had her nails done. Before Patricia there’d been Ashley, who was so tenderhearted she couldn’t handle movies with any violence. Nice women, all of them. Intelligent, beautiful, cultured, great company, but something had been missing every time. And then he’d seen Chris, and his instinct had kicked in so strongly.
“Are we going to walk to this place?” Eva asked.
Ames ended his reverie. No point thinking about something that was never going to happen. “We can or take a taxi. It’s several blocks.”
“Oh, walk, absolutely walk. I want to see everything.”
“Fine by me.” He had a new attitude about her boots. Too many women he dated wore heels so high they could barely make it to the end of a block without complaining.
“How long have you lived in the city?” She danced away from him, looking up, turned in a circle, then danced back, not taking his hand again.
“Since I was eighteen and came here to college at NYU from Jersey.”
“Joisey, right. I’m from central Wisconsin, a town just north of Madison. Dad’s a coffee scientist. Mom is an accountant. Does your mom work?”
“She helps Dad with the store. Bookkeeping, mostly.” He turned up University Place, heading for Union Square, then Eighteenth Street and one of his brother’s favorite bars, Old Town. There were a couple of fabulous wine bars in the area, customers of his, but he wasn’t sure they could handle shiny lime-green boots.
Actually...this was New York. They could handle anything. The real question was whether Ames could handle them.
No, not really.
“Brothers? Sisters? Occupations?”
He sent her a look. “Are you going to keep this interrogation up all night?”
“Conversation, Ames, remember?”
“One brother. Mike. A schoolteacher.”
“Ah, so you, the favored son, carried on the family tradition.”
“I was always interested in wine. Worked at the store from age sixteen, read everything about it I could get my hands on.”
“Drank everything you could get your hands on, too?”
“Tasted, then spat.” He snorted. “If I drank every kind of wine I learned about, I’d be in serious trouble.”
“How did you get started at Boyce Wines?”
“Dad used them for years at his store, insisted they were the best. He had a lot of respect for them and their business practices. So I applied, got a job, blah, blah, blah.”
“Do you get to travel to vineyards? Hey, you can visit me in California!”
He wasn’t going to touch that. “Boyce doesn’t sell California wine. Just Italy and France.”
“Then next time you go, I would be happy to come with you. Seriously.”
He shot her a look. “Do I get to ask you questions now?”
“Wait. Wait.” She dragged him out of the flow of pedestrians toward the street and pointed back at a building entrance they’d just passed. “Look at that!”
“What?” He saw a black awning with bowling pins on it. That couldn’t be what had her so excited.
Please, no.
“Come on, let’s check it out!” She grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the entrance. “I think there’s bowling. This will be totally fun.”
“Uh...” Bowling? “I’m not sure it’s my thing.”
“Of course it isn’t. It’s crazy. But how can you resist?”
If he knew how to answer that, he might be able to explain why he was still hanging out with her. Or how she got him inside the place and upstairs, where the place turned out to be some kind of amusement bar, decorated as homage to the preppy frat boy experience, with plaid upholstery, bowling, pool, darts and games of beer pong. Took him back more than ten years to his own college days.
Except he didn’t want to go back there.
He bought two beers, hoping they could down them quickly and leave.
Of course not. In another room, Eva discovered a nine-hole mini-golf course, complete with models of animals—a giraffe, a gorilla, a zebra.... She was clearly thrilled.
Which meant Ames was clearly doomed. “You’re going to make me play mini golf around large fake wild animals, aren’t you?”
“Well, of course!” She hoisted her glass to clink with his. “Why waste such a golden opportunity to enjoy ourselves?”
Playing mini golf? There was no way he was going to enjoy himself doing that.
Over an hour later, he had to admit, he was enjoying himself. Yes, he would have liked a bag over his head in case he saw someone he knew, but there weren’t any offered, and he didn’t see anyone, so what the hell?
Plus, he’d learned two things about Eva. One, she was a killer mini-golf player. He barely squeaked out a win, pure luck, and when he jokingly accused her of throwing the game to save his ego, she insisted they play another nine holes.
On this round, he beat her at the giraffe. She got him at the zebra. He trounced her near the gorilla. She came back at him with everything and in spite of his pure-luck hole in one on the eighth hole, she beat him by two shots.
The other thing he learned about Eva was disturbing. Maybe it was the beer—though they’d only had one each. Maybe he was on the rebound from his disappointment over losing the hope of Chris. Maybe it was that the evening had bounced him out of his usual routine, usual company, usual destinations.
He was hot for her.
Her cheeks were flushed, her blue eyes snapped, her bracelets jangled and she’d spent nearly the whole hour laughing. At him, at herself, at the game, at the bar, at the circumstances. A few locks of hair had escaped the scalp-eating combs. Her sweater had all but slipped off one shoulder, exposing smooth, tempting skin. She moved with a very distinctive careless grace, and when she looked at him, she conveyed an ancient woman-to-man message he understood well.
He better go home and reestablish contact with all things familiar before he did something stupid. Like kiss her. Or more than that.
“Winner buys loser’s next drink. I owe you.” She took his arm and propelled him, not to the bar as he expected, but to return their putters, then out and downstairs to the street, where the chill air and relative silence were refreshing after the crowds and noise.
“Now you can take me to the place we were going before I so rudely made you detour.”
“Actually.” He glanced at his watch, as if he had many important things still to accomplish, when the only thing he really had to accomplish was to avoid falling more deeply under Eva’s spell. “I should call it a night.”
“Oh, okay, sure.” She agreed so readily he felt a moment’s disappointment. Jeez, Ames, make up your mind.
They headed one block west to Fifth Avenue, where Ames hailed a cab. On their way up Avenue of the Americas, he kept the conversation impersonal, pointing out Herald Square, Bryant Park and the back of New York’s magnificent public library. His lecture ended when they turned onto Forty-Third and arrived at his building. Safe and sound.
“Here we are.” He took out his wallet and extracted extra money to pay for Eva’s trip home. Then he turned to smile and kiss her cheek in a platonic good-night.
He almost made it. But the feel of her skin under his lips, her flowery scent... Instead of jumping out of the cab and thanking her for a nice evening, he sat there, gazing at her.
Somehow she’d transformed from attractive to truly beautiful, her eyes large and glowing, her exquisite mouth curved in a smile.
Come on, Ames. Get the hell out while you still can.
“I had fun, Eva.” He reached for the door handle. “Thanks for insisting I come out to— What are you doing?”
“Who, me?” She’d swung her crazily booted leg over both of his and had somehow managed to straddle him in the cab. “I’m just saying, ‘You’re welcome,’ Ames.”
“Jeez, you can’t just—”
Yes, she could. She was already kissing him, hot, hungry kisses, pressing her pelvis against his.
He was a guy. That got a reaction. A fairly immediate and large one.
Wait, there’d been some reason he was going to avoid getting physical with her. It had seemed convincing at the time. Now he couldn’t remember what it was. In fact, his hands were at her waist, traveling around and down to explore the pink skirt.
Oh, man. The pink skirt was firm and warm and fit his hands as though it was made to be in them. He wanted nothing more than to beg her to come up to his place so he could lose himself in what was under it.
But as suddenly as she’d climbed onto his lap, she climbed off, leaving him dazed and hard. Instinctively he moved to reach for her again, but a basic self-protective instinct kicked in and kept him still.
Thank God.
“Ames, I had such a nice time tonight, I really appreciate you taking me out.”
“Hey, no problem, Eva. I had a good time, too. See you around maybe.”
Only that wasn’t what he said at all. What came out was more like “Ungh, yuh, too. ’Night.”
Then he was on the street, still dazed, still half-erect, watching the cab speed away, a beautiful blonde beaming at him out of its back window.
4 (#ulink_d9e2496c-e7da-5dfc-84cf-6364abb08252)
EVA CHECKED HER WATCH. Again. Could this day go any slower? NYEspresso closed at six on Saturdays. They’d been fairly busy midmorning—opposite from weekdays, when the crowds showed up around the business commute—but since five it had been dead, and by now time had slowed nearly to stopping. Especially since the woman she’d scheduled to work the register, Rebecca, an MFA graduate student at nearby Hunter College, never stopped talking in spite of the fact that she had nothing to say. Eva had important things to do. Involving Ames.
It was tempting to close early, but Tom, a clockwork afternoon regular, was tapping away at his laptop as usual, earphones on, Mets hat on the table next to him, a frown of concentration on his face. He was one of those sexy geeks Eva always had a soft spot for. Another couple sat nearby holding hands across the table, each texting someone else.
Eva checked her watch again. It had barely moved.
Rebecca launched into a detailed new story about her latest project, featuring photographs of severed heads interspersed with painted images of cupcakes and hundreds of boxes of thumbtacks. Blessedly, Tom approached the counter, laptop packed up, and interrupted her. “Hey, Rebecca. Can I have a coffee to go?”
“Sure. Room at the top?”
“No.” Eva answered for him. Rebecca needed to pay more attention to customers and less to herself. Tom always ordered the same thing. “Anything to go with that, Tom? Maybe a pain au chocolat?”
He hesitated, gazing at the burnished pastries under the counter. “We-e-e-ell. Okay.”
“How did your work go today?” Eva let Rebecca ring him up while she got his coffee and pastry. “What are you working on? A novel?”
“Oh, no.” He stood there sheepishly, unshaven, wearing his trademark black-framed glasses, shaggy head of dark curls, oversized Columbia sweatshirt, jeans and beat-up running shoes. “Nothing like that.”
She waited for him to tell her, but apparently he didn’t want to, so she changed the subject. “Do you live around here?”
“Nah. I live in New Jersey. In my parents’ basement.”
Eva reacted with a shocked look, then caught his sly grin and burst out laughing. “You bum. You almost got me.”
He was even cuter when he was grinning.
“Sorry. It’s a dumb joke. I live around the corner on Forty-Fourth.”
“What do you do?” She was only more curious now.
“I’m a frustrated composer.” His expression turned sheepish again. “Right now I’m working on a musical.”
“How cool!” She let her mouth drop open in case he hadn’t gotten how impressed she was. “Like for Broadway? What’s it about?”
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