The Man Most Likely
Cindi Myers
With her voluptuous, plus-size figure, Angela Krizova knows she doesn't fit the male fantasy of the perfect woman.That's fine, because Bryan Perry isn't her idea of the ideal man, either. The gorgeous ski-bum-turned-corporate-exec is just the type she avoids like the plague. Except he won't take no for an answer.With Bryan pursuing her as if she's the most desirable woman in Crested Butte, Angela's starting to believe it just a little herself. Is the most irresistible guy in town really falling for her ? Or is he the man most likely to break her heart?
“I can’t believe you’ve lived here three years and we’ve never met before.”
Gold flecks glinted in Bryan’s brown eyes as his gaze met hers.
“I guess we travel in different circles,” Angela said. “I’m busy with my shop and the theater group—I haven’t spent much time in clubs or at parties. And I don’t snowboard.”
Did that sound dull to him? Maybe she was dull, though she preferred to think of it as settled.
“Still, you’d think we would have run into each other before now.”
“Maybe we did and you didn’t notice me.” It wouldn’t be the first time a man had looked right past her, to focus on a prettier—and yes, thinner—woman.
“No, I would have remembered you.” He emphasized the words with a squeeze of her hand and an intense look that sent a tingling sensation clear to her toes.
She’d have remembered him, too. He was exactly the kind of man she always noticed—with dark hair and eyes, an expressive face and an outgoing personality.
Pure leading-man material.
Dear Reader,
When I meet new couples, I like to hear about how they met. There’s nothing like a romance story, especially in real life.
I’m particularly fascinated by those stories of unexpected love—the experiences of those who fall hard for people they never thought of as their type. I love these tales where the power of love trumps all expectations or previous experience.
Angela and Bryan, the heroine and hero of The Man Most Likely, have that kind of romance, set against the fun, quirky backdrop of Crested Butte, Colorado. I hope you’ll enjoy sharing their experience.
I look forward to hearing from readers, so if you have questions or comments about this book, feel free to e-mail me at Cindi@CindiMyers.com or write to me in care of Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd., 225 Duncan Mill Rd, Don Mills, Ontario M3B 3K9, Canada.
Sincerely,
Cindi Myers
The Man Most Likely
Cindi Myers
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
The friend who introduced Cindi Myers to her husband swore the man was not her type at all. But from the first moment he and Cindi smiled at each other, something clicked. Six weeks later they were engaged, and they will soon celebrate their thirtieth wedding anniversary. With such a romantic story of her own, how could Cindi not write romance stories—especially about those who find love where they least expect it.
To Connie, who introduced me to my husband.
You did good!
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter One
“So, Mr. Perry—Bryan—what are your thoughts on chocolate?”
The question, and the throaty, velvety tones in which it was delivered, caught Bryan Perry, new assistant manager of the Elevation Hotel at Crested Butte Mountain Resort, off guard. He sat back in his chair behind his desk in the hotel offices and stretched his legs out in front of him. This voice was worth getting comfortable and savoring, even if the woman it belonged to—one Angela Krizova—did ask strange questions. “I haven’t thought much about chocolate,” he answered.
“Then you haven’t tasted my chocolates.”
The sexy purr did things to his insides. Who was this goddess and how had he lived in Crested Butte for seven years without encountering her? “Are you offering samples?” The remark popped out before he could censor it. Thank God his manager, Carl Phelps, wasn’t within hearing range. He’d probably see this mild flirtation as yet another reminder that Bryan, until recently a part-time night auditor and full-time ski bum, was not exactly management material.
“That could be arranged,” Angela said smoothly. “We should probably get together anyway.”
Bryan’s heart sped up in anticipation. Being attracted to a woman based solely on her voice was a new experience for him, but anyone who sounded this sexy was bound to be the woman of his dreams. “I’d like that,” he said, doing his best to imbue the words with some sex appeal of his own.
“I need to look over the ballroom, and we can discuss decorations and other refreshments for the fund-raiser,” Angela said.
Right. The community theater fund-raiser. The whole reason behind this conversation. He sat up straight again, reality cooling his fantasies. “Good idea. What day works for you?” He pretended to study his desk planner, though all he really saw was the vision of a sultry blonde—or brunette, he wasn’t picky—that Angela’s voice had conjured.
“How about tomorrow afternoon? I have a girl who works part-time in my shop then.”
“Which shop is that?” he asked, partly to refresh his memory and partly to keep the woman on the line. That voice…
“The Chocolate Moose. On Elk Avenue.”
Bryan nodded. Crested Butte’s main street was lined with candy-colored Victorian era and replica-Victorian buildings that catered to locals and tourists alike. Not having a big sweet tooth, he’d never been inside the Chocolate Moose. Now maybe that would change.
“I asked about chocolate because, while I know the hotel usually supplies the catering for these events, I want to provide a selection of desserts from my shop,” Angela continued. “You can provide everything else, but I want to be in charge of chocolate.”
Company policy, which Phelps had drummed into Bryan’s head daily since his first hour on the job, stated that no outside food was to be brought into the hotel for special events. But hey, the woman was a chocolate specialist, and what Phelps didn’t know…“I’m sure that won’t be a problem,” Bryan said.
“Great. Why don’t I meet you at the hotel tomorrow afternoon? About three o’clock?”
“Great. I’ll look forward to it.” Bryan was still smiling when he hung up the phone.
“You really need to lay off the 900 numbers during working hours, dude.”
He looked up and suppressed a groan as his best friend, a snowboarder who went by a single name, Zephyr, sauntered into the office. Dressed in black-and-orange camo boarding pants and jacket, the ends of his blond dreadlocks damp from snow, Zephyr contrasted alarmingly with the pale mauve walls and elegant cherry furniture of the hotel offices. “I was talking with a client,” Bryan said.
“A sexy, female client from the look on your face.” Zephyr sat on the corner of Bryan’s desk, shoving aside a stapler and a stack of memo pads to make room for his rear end. “I guess every job has its perks, even this one.”
“Yeah, perks like a regular paycheck,” Bryan said.
Zephyr snorted. “I guess I’m just not a regular paycheck kind of guy. I prefer to live more on the edge.”
“That’s because you have a girlfriend who supports you.” Zephyr’s girlfriend, Trish, owned a successful coffee shop on Elk Avenue.
“Hey, I contribute. Besides, Trish is the kind of woman who needs to take care of someone. I’m helping her fulfill her destiny.”
Bryan grinned. “Who would have thought you’d be anyone’s destiny?”
“So truth, dude, how’s it going?” Zephyr looked around the office. “This looks like a really stuffy scene.”
“It’s not so bad,” Bryan said. “And it feels good to finally be putting all that expensive education to work.”
“A college education is never wasted. At least that’s what I always tell my parents. Anyway, I never saw you as a management type. The whole all-work-and-no-play thing is such a drag.”
“Hey, I’m still me,” Bryan protested. “Just me who can afford to eat something better than ramen noodles five nights a week. And me with better clothes.” He smoothed the lapels of the suit, for which he’d paid extra to have tailored to a custom fit.
“Clothes, but not style.” Zephyr adjusted his parka. “Only a few of us really know how to wear clothes.”
“Bryan, did you make those phone calls I asked you to make?”
Bryan straightened as Carl Phelps, the manager of the Elevation Hotel, entered the office. Carl stared at Zephyr, one eyebrow raised in question. “Is this a friend of yours?” he asked.
“He was just leaving.” Bryan shoved Zephyr off the corner of the desk.
Zephyr landed on his feet and strode toward Carl, hand outstretched. “I’m Zephyr,” he said. “I’m here scouting locations for my new cable television show, The Z Hour. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”
Carl slowly shook his head.
Zephyr did a three-sixty turn. “This place has possibilities. I could see setting up the cameras in the lobby, maybe doing a little feature.”
Carl stared at Bryan over Zephyr’s shoulder, silently telegraphing the question, Is this guy for real? Bryan managed a smile and a nod. Zephyr was real, all right; he just made his own reality.
“It was great to meet you.” Zephyr grabbed Carl’s hand and pumped it. “We’ll talk later. I’ll have my people call your people. We’ll do lunch.” He strolled out of the office, pausing to collect a mint from a bowl on the credenza by the door.
Bryan sank back in his chair, suppressing a grin. Nothing like a visit from Zephyr to liven up a dull afternoon.
“Did you take care of those phone calls?” Carl asked.
“Oh, yeah. Yes, sir.” Bryan moved the stapler and memo pads back into place. “The contractor will be in to repair the dining room window on Monday, and I’m meeting with Ms. Krizova tomorrow afternoon about the community theater fund-raiser.” A meeting that would no doubt be the highlight of his day. Maybe his week.
“Good.” Carl sat in the chair across from Brian’s desk. “You’re doing a fine job.” He glanced toward the door. “Was your friend serious? Does he really have a television show?”
“He does. It’s sort of a talk show–local affairs thing he started this summer. So far it’s been really successful.” That was the thing about Zephyr—he looked and acted like a bum, but there was a real brain underneath that shaggy hair, and he had the personality to carry off anything.
Bryan was more reserved and lately, the take-life-as-it-comes philosophy hadn’t been very satisfying. He was ready to go out and make things happen, hence the decision to trade in his ripped jeans and knit caps for a suit and tie and finally use the degree he’d earned seven years earlier. The day after attending his third wedding of the summer, he’d awakened in the morning and realized he was ready to grow up. He wanted the whole picture—the steady job, the house, the wife and kids, everything.
In some ways, it was the most radical thing he’d ever done. And one of the hardest.
“I suppose appearing on that kind of show could be good publicity,” Carl said. “What do you think?”
Bryan considered the question. “It would be good,” he said. “Zephyr pulls in a pretty diverse audience, plus the hotel could benefit from the exposure. It would help us seem more a part of the community, instead of some big corporate interloper.” The Elevation was relatively new on the Crested Butte scene; Carl had arrived only a month before hiring Bryan.
“Exactly.” Carl nodded. “You’ve got the instincts I was looking for when I hired you.” He leaned back in his chair, hands folded on his stomach. “There were people here who had their doubts, considering your lack of experience, but I have a good sense for these things.”
“I appreciate you giving me a chance,” Bryan said. If only other people would be more willing to see him differently. He’d heard some of his friends had actually made bets on how long he’d last in this new lifestyle.
“This theater fund-raiser is exactly the sort of community function I hope we’ll do more of,” Carl continued. “I’m counting on you to see that it all goes smoothly.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” It didn’t hurt that sultry-voiced Angela Krizova was his liaison with the theater group. She’d sounded young and sexy on the phone, and she had her own successful business. Zephyr might give him a hard time about being all work and no play, but Bryan wasn’t opposed to mixing business with pleasure, especially where an appealing woman was concerned. Maybe Angela was the ideal woman for a young professional on his way up.
“LET ME GUESS. You couldn’t afford a beach vacation, so you decided to make your own.”
Angela Krizova looked up from the work table behind the front counter of the Chocolate Moose at her friend from the Mountain Theatre, Tanya Bledso, who had just come in from the snowstorm raging outside. Angela adjusted the silk orchid she’d tucked behind her left ear, wiped her hands on her Hawaiian print apron, and gave a hula shimmy as she went to greet her friend. “If I can’t get to paradise, then paradise can come to me,” she said. “What do you think?”
Tanya unwound a pink woolen scarf from around her throat and looked around at the candy shop turned tropical escape. Jimmy Buffett crooned in the background and the four tables in front were covered in tropical-print fabric and strewn with silk flowers. A placard by the cash register announced a special on macadamia nut truffles, and the stuffed moose head on the back wall wore sunglasses and a colorful lei. With the heat turned up to seventy-five, condensation had formed on the front windows, obscuring the sight of winter.
“Nice,” Tanya said at last. “Can I stay here until June?”
“Next week I may decide I feel like traveling to Scotland, but this week, it’s Hawaii comes to Elk Avenue,” Angela said. “Tell all your friends.” She moved back behind the counter. “What can I get you?”
“I was going to ask for hot chocolate, but it seems inappropriate now.” Tanya sat at one of the tables, her gloves, parka, scarf and hat piled in a chair beside her.
“How about a non-alcoholic chocolate colada and a couple of the chocolate gingersnaps I just pulled out of the oven?”
“Sounds heavenly. And fattening.” Tanya made a face. “I’ll try a small one.”
“One more reason I’m glad I’m not a leading lady,” Angela said as she dumped coconut milk, pineapple juice and chocolate syrup into a blender. “Nobody cares if the heroine’s sidekick wears a size sixteen.” Besides, if she’d been that concerned with being skinny, she wouldn’t have started a business that required dealing with sugar, cream, butter and other luscious ingredients all day.
“You’re the best sidekick I ever had,” Tanya said. “You can act rings around some of the people I worked with in L.A.”
“Can we print that in the playbill of the next Mountain Theatre production?” Angela splashed skim milk into the blender and added a scoop of ice. “Former Hollywood star says Crested Butte actress has talent.”
“I wasn’t a star.” Tanya raised her voice to be heard over the roar of the blender. “That’s why I came back to C.B. Annie and I were practically starving to death in L.A.”
“I’m sure glad you came back.” Angela poured the drink into a malt glass, added a cherry and a straw. “The theater has a whole new life since you showed up.” And since the Mountain Theatre was a big part of her life, she was doubly grateful to Tanya for her role in revitalizing the troupe.
“I’ve had help,” Tanya said. “Your idea to have a chocolate extravaganza for a fund-raiser was great.” She accepted the drink and took a long pull at the straw. “Wow. You’ve got to put this on the menu for the fund-raiser. With rum. How’s that coming, by the way?”
“This afternoon I spoke with a guy at the Elevation Hotel who’s supposed to help coordinate everything.” Angela smiled at the memory of the flirtatious conversation. When she’d contacted the hotel and been told the assistant manager would call her back she’d expected to hear from some older stuffed shirt, not a young-sounding, sexy guy.
“What’s his name?”
“Bryan Perry.” A name she wouldn’t forget any time soon. “I don’t know him.” But she was definitely looking forward to meeting him. She wanted to see if the real man lived up to her telephone fantasies.
“You need to get out more,” Tanya said. “Or see someone besides theater people.”
“I like all kinds of people. It’s just that between this shop and the theater, I don’t have a lot of time.” She sat across from Tanya and helped herself to one of the chocolate gingersnaps. They were baked from a new recipe she’d developed, and if she did say so herself, they were delicious. “Do you know Bryan?” she asked.
“I know of him.” Tanya reached for a cookie. “He’s one of those guys this town is full of—good-looking, fun and totally irresponsible.”
Okay, she’d already pictured the cute and fun part, but irresponsible? “A guy like that is in charge of our fund-raiser at the hotel? That doesn’t sound good.”
“That is strange,” Angela agreed. “I didn’t even know he had a job. But he’s a nice guy.”
“Wait a minute.” She studied Tanya more closely. “Have you dated him?”
Tanya shook her head. “Not me. Divorced women with kids do not attract party guys like that. But I’ve seen him around. I can’t believe you haven’t. You’ve been here, what, almost three years? And I’ve only been back in town a few months.”
Angela nodded. “Yeah, but if he doesn’t buy chocolate or hang out at the theater, he’s not on my radar. Though maybe I should expand my horizons a little.”
“This fund-raiser might be the excuse to get to know him better.”
“Maybe.” Flirting with a guy over the phone was a long way from starting a real relationship—something she’d successfully avoided for three years now.
“Not interested in settling down?” Tanya sighed. “I can’t say it worked out all that well for me. Of course, I did get Annie out of the marriage. But she’s about the only high point of an otherwise wasted seven years.”
It wasn’t that Angela was opposed to love and marriage and happily-ever-after—at least in movies, plays and books. But in real life she felt safer remaining on her own, rather than getting her heart stomped on when she didn’t live up to some guy’s idea of Ms. Right.
In any case, Bryan probably had his pick of women if he was the type of guy who filled this town. The best she could hope for when they met was more mild flirtation and fuel for her private fantasies. And that was more than enough until she found a man she could count on to be there for her. Always.
“BRYAN, MS. KRIZOVA is here to see you.”
Bryan startled, awakening from an expense-report-induced doze. He leaned forward and depressed the intercom button. “Tell her I’ll be right there.” Anticipating this appointment had gotten him through a morning filled with dull meetings and even duller reports. He smoothed his tie, buttoned his jacket, then went out to greet his visitor.
February was one of the busiest months at the ski resort and the lobby was packed. As Bryan scanned the cavernous room, he quickly ruled out anyone dressed for the slopes, as well as two mothers with young children and all the men. That left a hefty brunette in a wine velvet dress, black leather boots and a low-slung black leather belt at the front desk, and a petite blonde in gray tweeds by the fire. Neither was the bombshell Angela’s voice had led him to expect, but the blonde had definite possibilities.
He started toward the blonde, but froze when a familiar voice spoke behind him. “Mr. Perry?”
He turned to face the brunette, smiling to cover the sudden sick feeling in his stomach. This was the voice that had wowed him over the phone, all right, but this was not the woman he’d pictured. “I’m Angela Krizova,” she said, offering her hand.
He took it, the dulcet tones of her words rolling over him. Her hand was warm and soft, and up close he could see she had jade-green eyes and a generous mouth. In fact, everything about her was generous—overly generous. He swallowed hard. Angela Krizova was, well, fat. Definitely not the woman of his dreams.
She withdrew her hand, looking amused. “Not what you expected?” she asked.
He cleared his throat to cover his embarrassment at allowing his feelings to be so transparent. “Excuse me?”
“I asked if I was not what you expected. Don’t worry, I’m used to it.”
She turned to survey the lobby and he closed his eyes, collecting himself.
“Nice place you have here,” she said, the same sweet, velvety voice wrapping around him. “I haven’t been here since it was redone.”
He opened his eyes again, half hoping to see the woman of his fantasies. Nope. Angela still stood before him, larger than life—or at least larger than he’d expected. He realized she was studying him, waiting for him to speak. “Let me show you around,” he said.
He led her through the lobby toward the restaurant decorated in dark wood and light stone. “The Atmosphere Restaurant and Bar has a sundeck with a fire pit right at the base of the ski slopes. We also have the Cirrus Lobby Bar. And down this hallway is our business center and indoor heated pool and spa.” He started to feel more comfortable. He’d given this same talk so many times he could practically say it in his sleep. Which was just as well, since while his tongue was otherwise engaged, every other sense was focused on the woman beside him.
Now that he’d recovered from his initial shock, he felt a little ashamed of his reaction to her. Yes, she was a big woman, but she wasn’t ugly. She had thick, lustrous dark hair that fell past her shoulders; expressive eyes, high cheekbones and a Cupid’s bow mouth; and her curves, though generous, were in all the right places. Some people might even say she was voluptuous rather than fat.
“May I see the ballroom where we’ll be holding the fund-raiser?” she asked.
“Of course.” He paged the catering manager and asked him to meet them there. Then he led the way into the ballroom and pressed the switches that flooded the room with light. “We can set up tables in any one of several configurations,” he said as they walked farther into the room. “The raised dais at the end can be used for speakers or a band or you could showcase silent-auction items there.”
“We can put the silent-auction items opposite the entrance and have tables set up along the sides. We’ll definitely want room for dancing,” she said. “And will there be a coat check available?”
“Yes, we can arrange for that, no problem.”
“That would be perfect.” Her smile, in conjunction with that killer voice, would have stopped any conscious man in his tracks.
Bryan took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the scent of Angela’s subtle floral perfume wrapped around him, further dazzling his senses. Forget the two-dimensional fantasies he’d conjured earlier. The flesh-and-blood woman before him had his expectations—and his libido—in a tailspin. Was he merely responding to the novelty of a plus-size siren, or was there something else at work here?
A stocky man with closely cropped black hair bustled into the room. “I am Marco Casale, the catering manager,” he said.
“Marco, this is Angela Krizova. She’ll be working with you to arrange the community theater fund-raiser.”
Marco took one of Angela’s hands in both of his and fixed her with a dazzling smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Krizova,” he said. “You perhaps do not remember me, but we spoke several months ago regarding a special order of chocolates you created for a wedding I catered.”
“Of course I remember.”
Marco’s eyes glazed slightly as Angela’s voice worked its magic, and Bryan felt a completely unexpected pinch of jealousy in his gut. He hadn’t realized quite how much he’d enjoyed being the focus of Angela’s attention until he had to share it with another man.
Marco moved in closer, still holding her hand. “We should meet privately sometime soon to discuss the menu for your gathering,” he said, his Italian accent more pronounced than usual. “I have some special dishes I have been saving.”
“That’s great. Why don’t you fax her a menu?” Bryan clamped his hand on Marco’s shoulder. “Don’t let us keep you. I know you have a lot of work to do.” Their eyes met in the kind of mute challenge men engage in when physical dueling would be crossing the line into outright incivility.
Marco was the first to blink, and with obvious reluctance released his hold on Angela and backed away. “I will call you,” he said to Angela, before sending a last withering look toward Bryan and leaving.
Angela watched his departure, the dimple to the left of her mouth deepening as her lips curved in a hint of a smile. When she and Bryan were alone again, she turned to him. “I almost forgot this,” she said as she opened her purse and took out a small, gold foil box.
“What is that?” he asked, watching her untie the ribbon that secured the box lid.
“I brought samples.”
“Samples?”
“Of my chocolates.” She selected a truffle from the box and held it up for his inspection, the shiny pink lacquer of her nails contrasting sharply with the velvety blackness of the sweet. “Dark chocolate raspberry,” she said, and offered it to him.
He popped the confection into his mouth and was instantly rewarded with the smooth sensation of melting chocolate, the bitterness of the cocoa and the sweetness of the raspberries in perfect harmony. “Delicious,” he mumbled.
“I’m glad you like it.” She licked the tip of her index finger, where the heat of her body had melted the fragile chocolate. The innocent, unself-conscious gesture sent a jolt of arousal straight through him, rocking him back on his heels. Then she smiled at him and said in that voice, “Would you like another?”
Could I survive another? “Maybe you could leave them for me to enjoy later,” he said.
“Of course.” She replaced the lid on the box and handed it to him. “How long have you been working for the hotel?”
“Not very long.” The last he’d heard, the oddsmakers in town had given him three months before he cried uncle and fled to his former slacker ways. He’d passed that mark two weeks ago, but they still treated his new career as a passing fancy, something he was bound to give up on sooner rather than later.
“And what did you do before that?”
“Different things,” he hedged. Of course, if she was really interested, five minutes spent talking to any of his friends would give her the full, if not necessarily flattering, picture of his past. He’d arrived in Crested Butte seven years ago this month, intending to spend the rest of the winter snowboarding before heading to New York or Chicago or Dallas to put his hotel management degree to use.
As soon as he’d pulled onto Crested Butte’s snow-packed main drag and seen the funky shops and even funkier people, he’d gone into a kind of trance from which he’d only recently awakened. “How long have you had your candy shop?” he asked, anxious to change the subject.
“Three years,” she answered. “The first night I was here I tried to buy chocolate and the only thing I could find was a two-month-old Hershey’s bar. I knew then I’d found my destiny.”
He was amazed she’d known so quickly what she wanted to do, while it had taken him years to figure it out. She had an air of confidence and serenity he hadn’t seen in most of the more conventionally beautiful women he’d dated.
“Is something wrong?”
The question made him realize he’d been staring at her. He looked away and reminded himself of the reason they were standing here in the first place. “How many people do you expect to attend?” he asked.
“About a hundred and fifty. We’re charging fifty-five dollars each or a hundred dollars a couple for tickets. There will be a silent auction as well as food, a cash bar, music and dancing. And chocolate, of course.”
“Of course.” He returned her smile. She had a great smile, one that radiated her enjoyment of the moment. “It sounds like fun.”
“I hope you’ll join us,” she said. “There’ll be a lot of local people there.” They left the ballroom and started toward the front lobby. “Have you seen any of our productions?”
He admitted he had not. Until recently, theater tickets weren’t part of his budget or his scope of interest.
“We’re rehearsing now for I Hate Hamlet,” she said. “We’re always looking for volunteers and it’s a great way to meet new people.”
“Maybe I’ll do that.”
“Our next rehearsal is tomorrow night. We meet at the Mallardi Cabaret, upstairs from the Paragon Galleries, at Second and Elk. You ought to stop by.”
They paused near the front desk. “Thanks for the chocolates,” he said. “It was good to meet you.”
“Thank you. It was a pleasure meeting you.” She gave his hand an extra squeeze on the word pleasure. Struck dumb, he stared after her as she sashayed across the lobby and out the door. Several heads turned to watch her departure. She may not have been skinny, but Angela definitely had style.
“It looks like Ms. Krizova’s been sampling a few too many of her own creations.”
He turned and saw the hotel receptionist standing at his elbow. Rachel was about his age, slim and stylish and part of the crowd of young people who frequented the clubs around town. He usually enjoyed talking to her, but the catty remark about Angela rubbed him the wrong way. No matter that he’d thought much the same thing when he first laid eyes on her. Half an hour in her company had given him a different impression entirely. “Did you need me for something?” he asked.
She arched one carefully plucked eyebrow at his brusque tone. “The Chamber of Commerce called about a donation for the Al Johnson Memorial Ski Race,” she said. “Mr. Phelps said you’d take care of it.”
“Sure.” He took the memorandum from her and turned toward his office.
“Some of us are meeting up at LoBar tomorrow night,” she said. “There’s a new band playing, so we thought we’d check them out. Want to come?”
Even an hour ago, he would have jumped at the chance, but now the invitation held little attraction. “Sorry, I’ve got other plans.”
She leaned toward him, her tone flirtatious once more. “What are you doing that’s more fun than going out with me and my friends?”
“I promised to stop by the community theater group.” He cleared his throat. “It’s business.”
She looked toward the door Angela had exited. “Uh-huh.” Then she turned back to him, her smile brighter than ever. “Too bad. You’d have a lot more fun with me and my friends. Nobody in that theater group is really your type.”
His type. How could she be so sure what his type was when he didn’t even know himself? He glanced at Rachel again, taking in her trim figure, glossy hair and dazzling smile. She was the sort of woman he usually dated. The type most men preferred. All he had to do was turn on the television or pick up a magazine to know that. Angela must have put him into some chocolate-induced trance to have him thinking otherwise.
“Of course she—I mean the theater group—really isn’t my type.” Carl had encouraged him to foster connections between the hotel and the community, so that’s what he’d be doing.
“It’s just business,” he said, and retreated to his office.
Chapter Two
Angela settled into a front-row seat at the Mallardi Cabaret, home to Crested Butte’s Mountain Theatre group, and pulled out her copy of the script for I Hate Hamlet. Around her, other cast and crew members congregated, sipping coffee, discussing the latest snowfall totals, their plans for the upcoming Al Johnson Memorial Ski Race or bemoaning the number of weeks until softball season began. Angela smiled, reveling in the homey familiarity of the scene. Once upon a time she’d dreamed of being a professional actress, but the daunting reality of competing for professional jobs in Los Angeles or New York had convinced her she was better off sticking close to home. She didn’t make her living on the stage, but outside her candy shop, her life revolved around the dusty velvet seats and greasepaint-scented air of community theater.
She opened the script and turned to her lines for the scene that was first up on the rehearsal schedule. She played the agent, Lillian Troy. Lillian’s claim to fame was that she had once had an affair with the late John Barrymore. Angela’s friend Tanya played Felicia, the glamorous girlfriend of the male lead, Andy, who was played by local heartthrob Austin Davies.
At that moment, the man himself crossed in front of Angela. Dressed casually in jeans and a fleece henley, his hair perfectly styled, his jaw perfectly rugged, Austin was the very picture of the leading man. He was a nice enough guy—vain without being obnoxious, over-confident about his abilities at times, but a decent actor.
He smiled at Angela and she nodded, then ducked her head and pretended renewed interest in her script. She wasn’t interested in being overly friendly with Austin. The truth was he reminded her a little too much of Troy Wakefield, the leading man in the community theater group she’d belonged to in Broomfield, Colorado, where she’d lived before moving to Crested Butte. The man she’d been engaged to for fifteen minutes.
Okay, more like fifteen days. Same difference for all she’d mattered to Troy. Old news that really didn’t concern her anymore.
She looked around to see who else was here. She spotted Tanya on the far side of the stage, running over her lines with Alex Pierce, the older man who was playing Barrymore’s ghost. Though tonight she was dressed like everyone else in jeans and a sweater, Tanya’s costume for the play was a short, tight, sparkly cocktail dress that showed off her perfect figure. With her red hair teased into waves that tumbled about her shoulders, she’d be the picture of the glamorous femme fatale.
Angela, meanwhile, would be stuck in a frumpy tweed skirt, no-nonsense sweater set and makeup designed to make her look thirty years older.
Just once it would have been fun to play the glamour girl, but she’d never been given the opportunity and probably never would.
“All right, places everyone.” Tanya called everyone to order. “Let’s run through the séance scene.”
Angela, Tanya and Austin gathered center stage around a white-draped table while Alex waited in the wings for his cue. Scripts in hand, they began the run-through of the scene in which the three friends try to contact the ghost of John Barrymore.
But instead of the late, great actor showing up on cue, the door to the theater opened, letting in the sounds of traffic on Elk Avenue below and a man in a dark overcoat. “Um, sorry,” he called as he pulled off his gloves. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Bryan! You came to see us after all.” Angela didn’t try to hide her delight. And she couldn’t ignore the way her heart sped up at the sight of him.
Tanya gave her a speculative look, then turned to Bryan. “Why don’t you have a seat down front,” she said. “We’ll take a break when we’re done with this scene. Angela, I think it’s your line.”
Angela forced her attention back to the script, trying to forget about the man seated only a few feet away and to put herself back into the character of the sixty-year-old woman recalling her glory days.
She got through it somehow and trooped off the stage with everyone else when they were done. Bryan stood as she approached his seat, the same front-row spot she’d occupied earlier. “That was great,” he said.
She smiled, determined to play it cool and not let him see how much his presence flustered her. She hadn’t really expected him to take her up on her invitation to visit, not after the mixed signals he’d sent during their meeting. “It’s a pretty funny play,” she said.
“No, I mean you were great,” he said. His eyes locked on to hers. She read definite interest there and struggled to quell the sudden uprising of butterflies in her stomach.
“Thank you. And thanks for coming tonight.”
“Hey, Bryan.” Austin joined them. “What brings you here? Decided to add acting to your list of new interests?”
“Angela and I are working together on the fund-raiser,” Bryan said. “I thought it would be a good idea to meet some of the other people involved.”
“Oh, business.” Austin looked sympathetic. “I’m sure you’d much rather be over at LoBar.”
“No, I’m interested in learning more about the group and what you do.”
Angela thought Bryan sounded annoyed. Austin did have that effect on some people.
“Hello, Bryan.” Tanya squeezed in next to Angela. “It’s good to see you.”
“Good to see you, too.” He nodded to Tanya, and Angela waited for the inevitable. Whenever she and Tanya were together, every man in the room focused his attention on Tanya and forgot Angela existed. They couldn’t seem to help themselves. It had happened so often, it didn’t even bother Angela anymore.
Much.
But, while Bryan was friendly toward Tanya and listened to her explanation of the play and the makeup of the theater group and their plans for the money from the fund-raiser, his eyes didn’t assume the slightly feverish look so many men’s did in her presence. “We have forty or fifty people involved in the group off and on, depending on the size of the production,” Tanya said. “Crested Butte has had a community theater for over thirty-five years now, though I’ve only taken over as director recently.”
“It sounds like a great group,” Bryan said. “I’m glad Angela invited me to stop by.”
Tanya checked her watch. “We need to run through the next scene, but you’re welcome to stay and watch,” she said.
The next scene featured only Tanya and Austin, so Angela settled beside Bryan to watch. As usual, Tanya lit up the stage. For ten years prior to returning to Crested Butte, she’d worked in Los Angeles, acting in commercials. She even had a part in a popular soap opera for a while. She’d been a professional and her skill showed. When she spoke her lines, the audience was transported to that New York City apartment where the play was set.
When the scene ended, everyone applauded. “She’s brilliant,” Angela said. “We’re so lucky to have her back, with all her talent and experience.”
“I’m no expert, but you seemed every bit as good to me,” Bryan said. “Aren’t you the star, or the female lead, or whatever it’s called?”
She laughed. “You flatter me. No, I am not the star. That’s Tanya. I’m the supporting actress. The comic relief.”
“If the rest of the play is like the little bit I saw, you’ll steal the show.”
“Thanks.” She looked away, trying not to show how flustered she felt. Why would he go out of his way to flatter her so? After their meeting at the hotel, she’d asked a few people about him—very casually, under the pretext of wanting to know more about the man she’d be working with. Women invariably described him as good-looking and fun. Men said he was a good softball player and snowboarder.
“Hey, Bryan! What’s up?” Chad, one of the crew members who helped with set construction, emerged from backstage and headed for them. He and Bryan bumped fists. “I been missing you on the slopes,” Chad said.
“I’ve been busy,” Bryan said.
“Yeah. I heard you were working at the hotel.” Chad shoved his hands in his pockets. “What’s up with that? I hear you’re even, like, a manager or something.”
Bryan flushed. “I have a degree in hotel management. Decided it was time I put it to good use.”
Chad laughed. “Never thought I’d see the day you’d go over to the other side,” he said.
“What other side?” Angela asked.
“The suit-and-tie corporate side,” Chad said. “This guy—” he put his hand on Bryan’s shoulder “—was one of the slacker kings. He and his buddy Zephyr showed us all how it was done.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe you gave up all that freedom for some job.”
Bryan shrugged off Chad’s hand. “I guess I figured it was time I grew up.”
“Oh, I’m wounded.” Chad clutched at his chest dramatically. “That hurts, bro.”
Bryan, a slacker? Angela considered the idea. It was true the picture his friends had painted didn’t exactly fit with the polished professional image he’d presented to her. The idea of him having this other side intrigued her.
“Rhiannon was asking about you at LoBar last night,” Chad said.
Rhiannon Michaels? Angela wondered. Chad had to be talking about the sleek, sexy siren pursued by half the men in town.
Bryan’s flush deepened, and Angela’s interest piqued. When Chad left and they were alone again, Angela decided to indulge her curiosity. “So you know Rhiannon,” she said.
“Yeah. We, uh, we dated for a while.”
That confirmed it, then. Bryan was definitely more party guy than serious businessman. Rhiannon only dated the wild ones—the men who only dated women like her.
Not that Angela believed she was ugly, but it took a particular kind of man to appreciate her and she was becoming less and less sure that Bryan was that kind of man. She hadn’t missed the disappointment on his face at their first meeting yesterday, but later, in the ballroom, she’d felt a definite zing of attraction. Those contradictory reactions had confused her—a feeling exacerbated by his appearance tonight. She didn’t like this push-pull sensation because it recalled times she hadn’t been so secure in herself. She had a great life without a man complicating things.
Of course, it wasn’t men in general she objected to, just ones who might break her heart. Like a good-looking, charming party boy out for a good time, a fling. A fling that was guaranteed not to lead to anything serious—since the very definition of a party guy was that he couldn’t be serious—was another possibility altogether.
Could she date a guy and not end up with her heart broken? Was she capable of that kind of cavalier, temporary engagement? Maybe with some guys, but with Bryan—she wasn’t so sure. She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he laughed at something Tanya said. She hadn’t been this attracted to a man since Troy. And frankly, that worried her. A lot.
THE NEXT DAY was Bryan’s day off, so he and Zephyr went snowboarding. It felt good to trade his suits and ties for fleece and board pants. Fun didn’t have a high priority in his life these days, but it was still a fundamental part of him.
“Where were you last night?” Zephyr asked as they rode the Red Lady Express lift to the top of the mountain. “I looked for you at LoBar.”
“I dropped by the Mountain Theatre group for a while.”
“You thinking of going on the stage? Becoming an actor? That’s radical.”
“No. The hotel is hosting a fund-raiser for the group and they invited me to come by and meet people.”
“A fund-raiser? What kind?”
“A fancy party with chocolate desserts and a silent auction.”
“Chocolate!” Zephyr grinned. “Maybe Trish and I should make an appearance.”
“It’s a hundred bucks a couple.”
Zephyr’s smile vanished. “Maybe not, then.” He brightened once more. “But hey, you and someone from the theater should come on my show and talk it up.”
Bryan knew his boss would like that. Nothing made Carl happier than publicity for the hotel. “All right. I’ll ask Angela when she’s available.”
They glided off the lift and stopped to adjust their bindings. “Who is Angela?” Zephyr asked.
“Angela Krizova. She owns the Chocolate Moose.” But apparently making chocolate wasn’t her only talent. He still couldn’t get over her transformation onstage last night. “She’s coordinating the fund-raiser.”
“Cool.” Zephyr straightened and unzipped his parka partway. “Maybe she can make some chocolate recipes on the show or something.”
Bryan laughed. “You want her to cook?”
“Why not? Food sells. So does sex, but you can’t do that on TV—at least not on my show.”
The thought of Angela and sex sent a jolt through him. There was a definite sensuality about her, something Bryan was aware of every time he was with her. His attraction to her was unsettling. He’d never pictured himself with a woman who probably weighed more than he did, but when he’d been with Angela last night, he hadn’t thought about her size—except to notice the soft roundness of her hips or generous curves of her breasts. He shook his head, trying to clear it.
“This weekend I’m broadcasting live coverage of the Al Johnson Memorial Race,” Zephyr said.
“Oh, yeah? What are you going to do? Show footage of all the crazy costumes and stuff?”
“That, and I’ll interview some of the entrants. But first I put together a short film about Al Johnson.” Al had been an early mail carrier in Crested Butte, one who lived up to the old saying about neither rain nor sleet nor gloom of night preventing the mail getting through. Al delivered the mail on skis, over mountain passes, sometimes in blizzard conditions. “I got Hagan to dress up in old-fashioned gear with a big mailbag we borrowed from the museum and I filmed the whole thing in black-and-white,” Zephyr said.
“Hagan is probably the only one who could ski on those big, old wooden skis,” Bryan said. Hagan Ansdar, a Crested Butte ski patroller originally from Norway, had won the race two years previously, skiing with conventional telemark gear, but dressed in a ratty raccoon coat someone had unearthed from a basement.
“He’s working this year, so he said this was as close as he could get to participating,” Zephyr said. “Maddie will be there, too, on call as an EMT.”
Maddie and Hagan’s wedding had been the third one Bryan had attended this past summer—the one that had turned his thoughts toward settling down. If a former playboy and ski bum like Hagan could find happiness with marriage and starting his own computer software company, then why couldn’t Bryan make similar big changes in his life?
They headed down the run, bombing through drifts of powder, carving wide turns on the steeps. They let out loud whoops as they raced each other through a stand of trees, then skidded into the lift line, red faced from the cold and grinning ear to ear.
“Magic!” Zephyr said, exchanging high fives with his friend. “I’ve missed being out here with you, dude.”
“This is great,” Bryan agreed. They inched their way to the head of the line and flashed their passes for the liftie.
On the chair once more, Zephyr said, “Rhiannon was asking about you last night. That Rachel chick from the hotel said she’d tried to talk you into coming with her, but you turned her down.”
“I told you, I had to go to the theater group.”
“Trying to score points with the boss, huh?” Zephyr shook his head. “Better you than me. I couldn’t handle that corporate BS.”
“It’s not so bad,” Bryan said. “I enjoy the work, most of the time. And this is just a stepping stone. One day I want to open my own hotel. A smaller, boutique place where I can do things the way I want. Right now I’m paying my dues.” And he had a lot of dues to pay. At twenty-eight, he had a long way to go to catch up with guys who’d gone straight to work out of college. He didn’t want to be an old man before he realized his dream, so he had to work extra hard and move up the ladder quickly.
“I told everybody you hadn’t really sold out to the man,” Zephyr said. “I told them this was all part of a plan.”
“Who thinks I sold out?” Bryan asked.
“Oh, you know.” Zephyr waved one hand. “Just some people shooting off their mouths. It doesn’t matter.”
But it did matter to Bryan. It annoyed him—and yeah, it hurt some, too—that his friends had so little faith in him.
“So, who all did you meet last night?” Zephyr asked. “Anybody interesting? That new director of theirs, Tanya Bledso, is pretty hot.”
“How do you know about Tanya?”
“Dude, I know everything that goes on in this town. I’m plugged in, you know. So, did you meet Tanya?”
“She was there.”
“And she’s really hot, right?”
“She’s okay.”
Zephyr grabbed Bryan’s wrist and made a show of looking at his own watch.
Bryan jerked away. “What are you doing?”
“Checking your pulse. If you think Tanya is just okay, I’m worried those corporate types have turned you into a zombie.”
“Just because I’m not panting after every pretty chick I see doesn’t mean I’m a zombie.”
“Then what does it mean?”
“Maybe it means I want more out of a relationship than the surface stuff. And don’t make any smart remarks about corporate brainwashing or anything.”
“Why do you think I’d do that?” Zephyr looked offended. “I’d say it’s about time you realized there was more to women than good looks and sex. Not that you can’t have all that and a connection on a deeper level. Look at me and Trish.”
Bryan was glad to shift the focus of the conversation away from himself. “I’m still trying to figure out what she sees in you,” he said.
“Haven’t you heard opposites attract? We balance each other out. I help her loosen up and she brings out my intellectual side.”
“I didn’t know you had an intellectual side.”
Zephyr punched Bryan’s arm, and Bryan punched him back. Just like old times.
“Seriously, what are you looking for in the perfect woman?” Zephyr asked as they unloaded from the lift again. “Maybe I can help you find her.”
Bryan started to make some remark about not needing Zephyr as a matchmaker, but stopped. The truth was, Zephyr did know almost everyone in town, and he was a more astute judge of character than people gave him credit for. “I’m looking for a woman who’ll take me seriously,” he said. “Someone who can see beyond my partying past.”
“I dig it. You want a chick who sees you’re more than just a pretty face and a good time.”
“Something like that.” And maybe he wanted a woman who had more going for her than looks alone. Not that he thought beautiful women were shallow. He knew plenty of smart, savvy and sexy chicks. But so far he hadn’t made a real connection with any of them.
“I’ll have to think on this awhile,” Zephyr said. “Somewhere there has got to be the perfect woman for you.”
“Thanks, but I’d as soon find her on my own.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t keep my eyes open to help you out. After all, sometimes our friends know us better than we know ourselves.”
If that was true, Bryan thought, then he was in trouble. His friends apparently saw him as either a sellout or a slacker. Neither was a very flattering picture.
Chapter Three
The Al Johnson Memorial Uphill Downhill Race commemorated the exploits of a pioneering mail carrier, but in typical Crested Butte fashion, it featured competitors in zany costumes, a carnival atmosphere and an excuse for locals and visitors alike to party.
While Angela wouldn’t be caught dead barreling up a six-hundred-foot incline while dressed in a large, pink bunny costume or similar outlandish garb, she was happy to volunteer her services handing out hot chocolate to race participants and fans at the base of the Silver Queen lift. From there, participants made their way to the starting point at the bottom of the North Face lift. Racers could choose to ski the entire course by themselves, but many opted to form relay teams, with one racer handling the uphill portion, the other the downhill. Keeping with the spirit of commemorating Al Johnson’s legacy, the uphill racer had to deliver a letter to his or her team member.
Other than that, anything went, and did. As she dispensed paper cups of cocoa, Angela saw teams dressed as a hot dog and a jar of mustard, Betty and Barney Rubble, twin tigers and Batman and Robin.
“Zephyr looks almost ordinary in this crowd,” said Trish Sanders, who was serving coffee next to Angela.
“Is he racing?” Angela asked. Though she’d never personally met the colorful snowboarder and rock guitarist turned talk-show host, Zephyr was the kind of person it was impossible to ignore.
“No, he’s filming for his show. Oh, there he is. With Max.” Trish pointed to where the blond-dreadlocked boarder was interviewing a burly skier who was dressed in a Colorado Avalanche hockey uniform.
Max Overbridge owned the snowboard and bicycle shop just down from the Chocolate Moose. A second man in a hockey uniform joined him. “Who’s that?” Angela asked.
“Eric Sepulveda, a ski patroller,” Trish said. “Looks like he and Max have teamed up for the race.”
“Can a thirsty volunteer get a drink here?” A petite woman with a short cap of white-blond hair approached the refreshment booths. She was accompanied by a black Labrador retriever who wore a red search-and-rescue vest.
“Casey!” Trish leaned over the table to hug the blonde, then turned to introduce Angela. “You know Casey Overbridge, right? Max’s wife?”
“I’m one of her best customers,” Casey said. She accepted a cup of hot chocolate from Angela.
“Are you and your dog working today?” Angela asked, nodding at the Lab.
“We’re on call,” Casey said. “Though I hope we don’t have to rescue anyone. Mainly Lucy and I are here as publicity for Search and Rescue.” She patted the black Lab, who grinned up at her and wagged her tail.
Casey straightened and looked past Angela. “Bryan!” she called and waved.
“Hey, Casey.”
Angela’s stomach fluttered at the sound of the familiar low voice behind her. Then Bryan was standing beside her, handsome in a blue-and-gray sweater over gray pants and black boots. She smoothed the fake-fur collar of her parka, glad she’d decided on the curve-hugging wool skirt instead of jeans.
“Hello, Angela,” he said, his eyes meeting hers.
“Hi, Bryan.”
“You aren’t racing?” Casey asked.
Bryan shook his head. “The hotel’s hosting the awards ceremony,” he said. “I’m coordinating that.”
“How do you like your new job?” Casey asked.
“It’s good.”
“Do people always dress so strangely for this?” An older man joined them. He, too, wore a sweater over gray pants. A name tag identified him as Carl Phelps, manager of the Elevation Hotel. He stared as a large carton of French fries and a bottle of ketchup skied past.
“This is pretty normal for any kind of Crested Butte celebration,” Bryan said.
“They certainly don’t have anything like this in Michigan,” Carl said, as a man in a flowered housedress over long underwear accepted a cup of coffee from Trish.
“They don’t have anything like this anywhere else,” Bryan said. “It’s one of the things that makes Crested Butte special.”
“Or at least different,” Carl conceded. He turned to Bryan. “Is everything ready for the awards ceremony?”
“It’s all set,” Bryan said.
“I’ll be filming the whole thing for my show.” Zephyr joined them and held up his video camera. “A hundred percent digital and state of the art.”
“Sweet.” Bryan examined the camera. “Where did you get this?”
“Trish gave it to me for Christmas.” Zephyr grinned at his girlfriend, who beamed back. “It pays to hook up with the right woman.”
“Aw, that’s so sweet,” Casey said.
“Too sweet for me,” Angela said. “And I’m a woman who loves sugar.”
“Everything seems to be running smoothly here,” Carl said. He clapped a hand on Bryan’s shoulder. “You and I have business to attend to inside.”
Bryan’s expression clouded, but he quickly assumed an all-business attitude. “Of course.” He nodded to the group. “I’ll see you all at the awards ceremony.”
“We wouldn’t miss it,” Casey said.
“I’d better get busy, too.” Zephyr shouldered the camera once more. “I’m going to film the uphill and downhill segments of the race.”
“I can’t get used to seeing Bryan with his nose to the grindstone,” Trish said. “Any other year, he’d be out there with Zephyr, clowning around with the racers.”
“Some of us do have to work for a living,” Angela said. For some reason she felt the need to defend Bryan. There were worse things than a guy hanging up his beer steins for gainful employment.
“Yes, everyone has to grow up sometime.” Trish laughed. “Except, of course, Zephyr.”
Angela studied her friend as Trish turned to serve coffee to a couple of tourists. Like Angela, Trish had her own successful business. She was known around town as a smart woman who had everything going for her. People were still scratching their heads over her relationship with the lovable but extremely laid-back Zephyr. Angela figured it had to be true love. Why else would two such different people be drawn together?
“Angela, tell me more about this theater fund-raiser,” Casey said. “I saw some flyers around town.”
“The money will go to license new scripts and pay for new scenery and costumes,” Angela said. “And we’d like to offer a summer program for children.”
“Will you be supplying the chocolate?” Casey asked.
“Of course.”
“Then I am so there,” Casey said.
“Bryan’s helping you put this together, isn’t he?” Trish asked, rejoining the conversation.
“Yes. He’s the liaison at the hotel.”
Trish nodded. “Zephyr mentioned it. Apparently, he’s decided he needs to fix Bryan up with someone. He was asking me last night if I knew any single women who would be a good match for him.”
“As if Bryan needs help meeting women,” Casey said. “He’s good-looking, fun to be with, smart. I’ve seen him around with plenty of cute girls.”
“He never has any problem finding dates,” Trish said. “I’m really not sure what Zephyr was getting at. There are a lot of women around town who’d love to have a nice guy like Bryan—especially now that he has a good job.”
“Employment is a plus,” Casey agreed. She looked around them. “I’m guessing the race has started. I think I’ll get my skis, and Lucy and I will head over toward the finish line.”
“See you at the awards ceremony,” Trish said.
“Guess we can pack up here,” Angela said. She drained the last of the hot chocolate into a cup and began disconnecting the pot to haul back to her store. The discussion of Bryan’s need for a girlfriend—and the plethora of women he had to choose from—had disturbed her. Did anyone think of her as a likely companion for the handsome hotel manager? Or would they laugh if she suggested it?
She’d parked on the other side of the building, so the shortest route to her car was through the hotel. She was passing a row of offices when Bryan appeared in a doorway. “Angela, can I talk to you a minute?” he asked.
“Sure.” She shifted the chocolate pot and a carton of cups to one hip. “What can I do for you?”
“Let me take those.” He relieved her of her burden. “Come in here.” He ushered her into the office. “Sit down,” he said, gesturing to a pair of upholstered chairs.
She sat and he deposited the pot and cups on a credenza and took the chair beside her. “Do you have everything you need for the fund-raiser?” he asked.
“Yes. Marco and I settled on a menu, and the publicity committee has flyers plastered all over town. I understand ticket sales have been good.”
“Good. Would you be interested in a little more publicity?”
“There’s no such thing as too much.” She gave him her warmest smile. “What did you have in mind?”
“Zephyr’s asked us to appear on his show to talk about the fund-raiser.”
“The two of us? Together?” She took a deep breath, trying to quell the nervous fluttering in her chest. She reminded herself Bryan was asking her to help him with a business issue, not for a date.
“Or you could go on the show by yourself, or with someone else from the theater. I realize I’m not really a part of that—”
“No, we should do it together,” she said. “You can talk about the hotel, and I’ll talk about the theater.” And she’d get to spend a little more time with him.
“And chocolate. Zephyr suggested you cook something.”
“Free publicity for my business, too? I can’t wait.”
“Great.” He looked relieved. “Some people think Zephyr is kind of a flake, but under that goofy exterior is a really smart guy. I think his show is turning into a success.”
“I learned a long time ago that you can never judge a person by outward appearances,” she said. “I’ve met shy, milquetoast types who turned out to be fiery actors and blowhards who couldn’t deliver a convincing line to save their lives.”
“I’ve never had a desire to act, but I’ll admit that what I saw the other night was interesting,” Bryan said. “And you’re really talented.”
“Thank you.” She would never get tired of hearing his praise or of seeing that appreciative look in his eyes. “When does Zephyr want to do this show?”
“I’ll have to talk to him and get back to you. Soon, since the fund-raiser’s only two weeks away.”
“Great.” She could sit here all afternoon making small talk with him, but they both had work to do. Besides, one lesson she’d learned in the theater that had served her well in real life was to always leave them wanting more. “I’ll talk to you soon,” she said, standing.
He rose also. “Soon,” he said, his eyes locked to hers.
She started to gather up her boxes, but he stopped her. “I’ll get these for you,” he said.
“Thank you. I hate to keep you from your work.”
He made a face. “It’s nothing that won’t wait.” He leaned close, his voice low. “To tell you the truth, about a third of what I do is either busywork or corporate BS.A lot of paperwork.”
“I suppose every job has boring aspects like that,” she said. “Even working for myself I have to do taxes and stuff.”
“It’s a trade-off, I guess,” he said as they walked to her car. “We do what we have to in order to get what we want.”
And what do you want, Bryan? It was a loaded question, one she didn’t feel she knew him well enough to ask. Besides, if rumors were correct, there would be a picket fence in his future. And given his initial reaction to her—even though he’d warmed considerably since then—she suspected she didn’t fill that role any more than the other leading roles she left to others.
ON A FROSTY but sunny morning in early March, Angela, Bryan, Zephyr and Zephyr’s cameraman—a silent, freckle-faced young guy named Brix—met at the Chocolate Moose to shoot footage for The Z Hour. It was Bryan’s first visit to the shop, though he’d passed it hundreds of times on his way to Max’s snowboard store.
The rich aromas of chocolate and vanilla greeted him as soon as he entered the large front room. A handful of small tables and chairs were arranged in front of a long, glass display case filled with cakes, cookies and candies. Twin coffee and cocoa urns flanked the cash register, and a large moose head, adorned with sunglasses and a lei, looked out over the scene.
“You and Zephyr can put these on,” Angela said. She handed them each aprons.
Bryan unfolded his and studied a cartoon of a grinning moose. “The best things in life are chocolate,” he read.
“I don’t know about that,” Zephyr said, tying on his apron. “What about rock and roll? Or sex? Or beer?”
“In my shop, the best thing in life is chocolate,” she asserted.
Bryan could have argued with that. He liked chocolate well enough, but found the woman before him much more interesting than her candies. Beneath her own apron she wore a red turtleneck sweater, dark jeans and black leather boots with tall heels—clothes that emphasized her curves and height.
“Do you have one of those hat things, too?” Zephyr asked. “A toucan or whatever it’s called?”
“A toque. Here you go.” She handed the two men tall, paper chef’s hats, then donned her own headgear.
“Sweet!” Zephyr admired himself in the mirror, then turned to Brix and gave him a thumbs up. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
While Brix and Zephyr conferred, Bryan sidled over to Angela. He leaned in close enough to smell her vanilla-and-spice perfume. “Do I have this hat on right?” he asked.
“You look great.” Pitched slightly above a whisper, her sultry voice sent heat straight through him.
“Quiet on the set!” Zephyr bellowed, loud enough to make Angela jump. The manic blond grabbed an electric guitar, played a loud fanfare, then grinned at the camera. “Welcome to The Z Hour. I’m Zephyr and every week I bring you the hippest and hottest happenings of Crested Butte and beyond. Today we’re at the Chocolate Moose, visiting with the owner, Angela Krizova. Also joining us is Bryan Perry of the Elevation Hotel at Crested Butte Mountain Resort. The two of them are going to show us how to make chocolate truffles and talk about the fund-raiser they’re coordinating at the Elevation Hotel to benefit the Mountain Theatre community theater group here in C.B. Take it away, Angela.”
He swung around and pointed the neck of the guitar at her. Though Bryan’s stomach was doing backflips at the thought of appearing on camera, Angela was as serene as if she did this every day of the week. Obviously her acting experience helped. She smiled for the camera and said, “Thanks, Zephyr. Today, I’m going to show you how I make my sinfully delicious dark chocolate truffles.”
“What makes them so sinful?” Zephyr asked.
“The chocolate is so rich and sweet and sensuous—” she lowered her voice to an intimate tease “—one bite and I think you’ll agree that anything so good has to be a little bit naughty.”
“What do you think about that, Bryan?” Zephyr asked.
Bryan sucked in a deep breath and tried to look calm. Focusing on Angela instead of the camera helped. “I think Angela wants to lead us astray,” he said.
She smirked. “You men are so easily led.” She moved a bowl to the center of the counter and uncovered it. “Come over here and I’ll show you what to do. First, wash your hands.”
They dutifully washed and dried their hands, then arranged themselves on either side of her at the counter. “This bowl contains chocolate ganache,” she explained, scooping out several clumps of glossy, dark goo. “It’s made with cream and chocolate shavings. I’ve refrigerated it so it’s thick enough to be shaped. So start by pinching up a little ganache and rolling it into a ball in your palms.”
She demonstrated, and Zephyr and Bryan attempted to copy her. Angela made it look easy, but the ganache immediately stuck to Bryan’s hands and refused to form any kind of sphere.
Angela had six little balls lined up on the counter in front of her by the time she noticed the two men had made no progress at all. “Having problems?” she asked.
“It’s tougher than it looks,” Bryan said. He frowned at the gloppy mass of chocolate in his hand.
“It’s sticky,” Zephyr said. He licked chocolate off his fingers. “But it tastes good.”
“You’re being too rough,” she scolded. She scooped up a fresh bit of ganache and demonstrated the technique again. “You want to roll it lightly and work quickly. Think of the chocolate as being like a woman.”
The men exchanged glances. “How is chocolate like a woman?” Zephyr asked. “Is this a new joke?”
“No, it’s not a joke.” She shaped another sphere. “This chocolate is like a woman because with the right gentle touch it becomes pliable and smooth. But apply too much pressure or allow too much heat to build up and it won’t cooperate at all.”
“So the secret is knowing how to touch it,” Bryan asked. No woman had ever complained about his skills as a lover before, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t learn something new. He copied Angela’s movements once more, getting it right this time.
“That’s good.” She leaned closer to examine his efforts. “Coax it into the right shape.”
Zephyr had abandoned trying to shape the chocolate into spheres and was busy making a pile of irregular pellets. “What are you doing?” Bryan asked.
“Moose droppings,” Zephyr said, and popped one into his mouth.
Angela slapped his hand away. “Maybe you’d better just watch.” She set the bowl of ganache aside and reached for a second bowl in which sat a flour sifter. “Next, we’ll cover the balls with powdered cocoa. This helps to set the shape.” She cranked the handle of the sifter and a cloud of cocoa drifted over the ganache.
“You finish them,” she said, and handed the sifter to Bryan. While he cranked, she turned the balls over until they were coated on all sides.
“Now what?” Zephyr asked. “Is it time to eat them?”
“No.” She slapped his hand away once more. “Now we coat them in a chocolate glaze.” She retrieved two more bowls from the counter behind her. “I have a white chocolate glaze and a dark chocolate glaze. Simply dip a truffle in the glaze, set it aside to dry, and you’re done.”
“That looks really messy,” Bryan said as he watched her dip the chocolates by hand.
“It is. That’s half the fun. It’s about experiencing the chocolate fully—sensually, from its creation to the last luscious, melting bite.”
After this show aired, she’d probably have a line out the door of men who would happily pay for the privilege of hearing her describe the sensual nature of chocolate in her throaty, alluring voice.
Bryan picked up a truffle and plunged it into the bowl of white chocolate. It immediately slipped out of his hand. He stifled a curse.
“What’s wrong?” Angela asked.
“I dropped it.”
“That happens sometimes,” she said. “Just fish it out.”
He probed the bowl of chocolate, sloshing some over the side, but the truffle eluded capture. “It’s a slippery little devil,” he said.
“Let me help.” Angela plunged her hand in alongside his, her fingers brushing against his in the slightly warm, silken chocolate. A disconcerting image of naked bodies smeared with chocolate flashed through Bryan’s mind. He couldn’t resist purposely stroking the back of her hand. “I see what you mean about this being a sensuous experience,” he said.
She jerked her hand from the bowl. “We’ll find it later,” she said, avoiding looking at him. “For now, let’s use the dark chocolate.”
While she washed her hands, he managed to dip and retrieve the rest of the truffles and set them to dry on a wire rack on the counter.
“Now can we eat them?” Zephyr asked.
“They need to set up first,” Angela said. “While we wait, let’s talk about the Mountain Theatre fund-raiser.”
The fund-raiser. Right. The reason they were here.
The two men washed their hands and joined Angela at one of the little tables. Zephyr once more assumed the role of television host. “Tell us all about this fund-raiser,” he said.
Bryan and Angela had talked on the phone the previous evening and discussed what they should say. “The event is being held at the Elevation Hotel this coming Saturday, beginning at 7:00 p.m.,” Angela began.
“It’s a chocolate extravaganza,” Bryan added. “Angela will be making some special chocolate desserts.”
“Yes, I’m working on some recipes especially for it.”
“Tickets can be purchased at the hotel or from any Mountain Theatre member,” Bryan said.
“And here at the Chocolate Moose,” Angela added. “All the proceeds go to support the Crested Butte Mountain Theatre, which has been active in the community for over thirty-five years.”
“Now can we eat the chocolate?” Zephyr asked.
“Yes. It’s all yours.”
She selected a truffle and bit into it. Mesmerized, Bryan watched her tongue flick out to capture a stray bit of chocolate on her lip. He looked away, for fear of embarrassing himself. You’d think he’d never seen a woman eat before!
“Primo chocolate!” Zephyr declared. He grabbed his guitar and began strumming a tune. “Don’t trifle with the truffles that Angela makes. Treat yourself to all the goodies that Angela bakes. Support our local actors, for heaven’s sake! Get your tickets to the party—you know it will be great!”
The last chords of this chorus still rang in Bryan’s ears when Zephyr pronounced they were done, and Angela began clearing away the bowls and remaining truffles. “Do you want to take these back to the hotel for your coworkers?” she asked. “I can box them up for you.”
“Thanks. That would be great.” He picked up the bowls of glaze and followed her into a back room that contained two refrigerators, a freezer and four sets of steel shelving filled with bags of sugar, flour and cocoa, boxes of chocolate chips, egg white powder and other ingredients he couldn’t identify.
“You can put those bowls in the first refrigerator.” She nodded toward a white side-by-side model, then pulled a flattened box off the top of one of the shelving units. With a practiced move, she popped it open and began arranging the truffles inside.
Bryan leaned against the refrigerator, arms crossed. “This was fun today,” he said. “I enjoyed seeing what you do.”
“I love my work,” she said. “And I guess it shows.” She laughed. “In more ways than one. But I always say, never trust a skinny cook.”
“You look great,” he said. He couldn’t believe he’d never noticed her before; now that he knew her, he couldn’t keep his eyes off her.
Her cheeks turned pink. “Thanks.” She moved past him, into the front room once more.
“We should go out sometime,” he said.
She juggled the box of truffles, then carefully set it on the counter and turned to face him. “Go out?”
“Yeah, you know. On a date.”
For the first time that day, she looked flustered, but she quickly recovered. “Sure. That would be fun. What do you want to do? Catch a band at LoBar or go for pizza at the Last Steep?”
Those were the kind of dates he had in his slacker days. Now he wanted to do something classier, more grown-up. “I was thinking I’d take you to dinner at Garlic Mike’s.” The intimate Italian eatery on the outskirts of Gunnison had been voted Most Romantic Restaurant in a local newspaper poll.
Angela’s eyes widened. “Oh. Well. I don’t know—”
“How about Friday night?”
She shook her head. “I have too much to do to get ready for the fund-raiser on Saturday.”
“Then you choose a night.”
She turned and began rearranging a display of Chocolate Moose coffee mugs on a nearby shelf. “Maybe now isn’t a good time. I have the play and rehearsals and a lot of work getting ready for the fund-raiser.”
Was she rejecting him? Deep breath. Time to regroup. He couldn’t remember when a woman had turned him down. In fact, he was pretty sure this was a first.
He looked around the shop, searching for inspiration. He found it in a poster advertising the upcoming performances of I Hate Hamlet. “What about Sunday night?” he said. “The fund-raiser will be over and the play doesn’t start until the next week.”
She shook her head. “No. I’d better not.”
He stood very still, working hard to keep his feelings from showing in his face. She really was turning him down. And why? The two of them got along great. “Is there something in particular about me you don’t like?” he asked stiffly.
“No!” She whirled to face him, her eyes wide with surprise, her cheeks flushed. “I like you. I really do.”
He believed her. She was a good actress, but he didn’t think she was faking it now. And he hadn’t imagined the heat between them when their hands had brushed in the bowl of chocolate. “Are you dating someone else?” he asked. That had to be the answer. She probably had some big bruiser of a boyfriend who’d like nothing better than to pound any potential rival.
“No.” She turned away and began wiping down the hot chocolate machine. “I just…I have too much else going on right now to start dating anyone,” she said. “It’s so hard juggling everything. I have to be at the theater practically every night, and the shop takes up all my time during the days. I guess that’s life in a tourist town during the busy season.”
There was more to her reluctance to go out with him than a lack of time, he was sure. “Maybe later, then,” he said, doing his best to sound unaffected by her rejection, though inside he was crushed. And confused—both by her reluctance and by his own attraction to a woman who was nothing like any other woman he’d wanted to spend time with. He was a guy who always dated the hottest girl in any crowd. Angela wasn’t that kind of girl—though for some reason she certainly raised his temperature. He couldn’t figure it out, but he wanted her to at least give him a chance to try.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/cindi-myers/the-man-most-likely/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.