Authors: Christi Barth
Ben shook his head. “Sam, you need to cut the apron strings.”
“Just because your dad died doesn’t mean you have to fill in all his footsteps.” Gib used his straw for emphasis, flicking it in the air as he made each point. “Bad enough you had to take over his job at the bakery. You don’t have to give up your life to take care of your mom, too. She’s a tough old broad.”
“Like Ethel Merman,” piped in Milo.
Sam didn’t need anyone telling him how to deal with his mother. Especially people who didn’t know the whole story. “Look, you may have crossed the entire Atlantic Ocean to get away from your family, but not everyone needs that distance.” Gib and his family were a complicated mess. Nobody knew the whole story, since he refused to talk about it. And from what they could tell, he refused to talk to his family, too. Not the kind of person who should be giving advice on dealing with parents.
Dunking the straw, Gib used it to blow a stream of liquid at Sam. “Cool it, Lyons. Don’t lash out at me with your sublimated maternal resentment.”
“You sound like a psychiatrist. Did you screw a shrink last night?” Milo asked with a jab to Gib’s ribs.
Sam didn’t wait for him to answer. He didn’t care. “I don’t have resentment. Except toward Mira. But I hear you, okay?” Sam handed his empty glass to Milo. It was good to hang with friends, even when they annoyed the shit out of him. Who else could you trust to dish it out, and then laugh with you over beers? “God, I’m glad Mira’s not here tonight. I need a break from her wall of silence. All that churned-up, buttoned-up energy of hers is probably seeping through the walls and souring my whipping cream. Plus, I’ve got a twitch from ducking every time I hear her walk by.” He curled in his shoulders and fig-leafed his hands, as though protecting himself from an errant tennis ball.
Ben snickered. “Then you’d better hope you wore your cup tonight, ’cause she just got here.”
Sam twisted to face the door. “What?” Sure enough, she stood at the top of the stairs, smiling as Ivy dropped a pink-and-white lei over her head. Mira looked amazing. He’d caught glimpses of her the past couple of days, always in grungy clothes appropriate for unpacking. But tonight she’d dolled herself up, and the effect rattled his knees. She wore a short white skirt that showed off miles and miles of tan legs that ended in some wedgy white shoe. Milo probably knew what to call it. Her blue-and-white-striped top clung to every curve like it was painted on.
His mouth went dry. And she’d left all that dark hair down and free, hanging down to her breasts. God, he wanted to touch it, see if it was as soft as it looked. He remembered from when she bandaged him how it smelled. Like fresh-cut grapefruit, sweet and bright. Maybe she tasted that way, too. Not that he’d ever find out. “Why’d you invite her?”
“Uh, the same reason we invited you. Longtime friend sound like a familiar category?” Ben elbowed him as he loped over to the barbecue. The other guys followed, leaving Sam alone to bear the wrath of women wronged. Ivy and Mira bore down on him. The swingy white sundress didn’t make Ivy look any less formidable because of the serious frown topping off the outfit.
“I heard you got beat up by a girl, Sam. Is that true?” Ivy asked.
Crap. Now that they were closer, he saw the giggle peeking out of her hazel eyes. Mira pressed her lips together, not out of anger, but also trying to hide a smirk. Great party. First the guys ganged up on him, then the girls. What would happen next—maybe an overconfident pigeon would swoop down and steal one of his brats right out of the bun?
“Let’s be clear. Mira attacked me from behind with a weapon. It’s not like she took me down in three rounds of a cage match.”
Ivy crossed her arms. “Sounds to me like the sour grapes of a sore loser.”
“Oh, I’m sore, alright.” Once more, Sam turned to show off his scab.
Both women gasped. Mira’s hand flew to her mouth. “Sam, I’m so sorry. You really should’ve let me take you to a hospital. I’ll bet it did need stitches.”
The tremble in her voice marked her concern as sincere. It made all the difference. His resentment dropped from a full boil to barely lukewarm. “Don’t worry about it. I didn’t have any plans to be a scalp model.”
“Mira told me the whole story. I’m disappointed in you, Sam. Working right next door with Mira, I’d hoped you’d be a friendly resource she could call on. Offer her the strong, silent shoulder you always offer me—and instead you’ve already got two big strikes against you.” Ivy circled him, giving him the once-over from head to toe.
Sam was willing to concede he hadn’t rolled out his A game. “First impressions are rough.”
“However, you are wearing the party shirt, which makes me super happy. So I’ll give you one last chance to redeem yourself.”
Why did women always make men jump through hoops? Men would grunt, nod, and the whole thing would be over. Ivy could be one hell of a whip cracker. “Christ, I brought pie. Your favorite, as a matter of fact, even though Ben begged me to make him chocolate pecan. Doesn’t that earn me any points?”
“Oh, I saw the pie on the counter. That’s why I didn’t start by whacking you across the ass.”
“Get rid of Ben and we’ll revisit that scenario,” he said, wriggling his eyebrows and leering. Sure enough, it sent her into a peal of laughter.
“In your dreams, Mr. Lyons.”
“Every night, Ms. Rhodes.” Out of the corner of his eye, Sam noticed Mira following their interplay very closely. Didn’t she have a sense of humor at all?
“That’s the soon-to-be Mrs. Westcott,” Ben corrected, throwing an arm around Ivy’s waist. “How about you stop hitting on my woman?”
“Hard to do. You snagged a good one.” Although he didn’t know how Ben dealt with Ivy’s obsession with planning and lists. She probably made a list of what order to move through foreplay.
Ivy melted against Ben’s side like thick caramel over toffee. “Here’s the deal, Sam. I want you to show Mira the city on Saturday.”
“Can’t do it.” He hated playing tour guide. Mira hated him. Talk about a recipe for disaster.
“Why not? Your mom told me that you’re free on Saturday afternoon.”
Mom needed a lesson in the interpretation of the word
free
. She had a bad habit of thinking his free time equaled the perfect opportunity to re-tar her roof, or paint the kitchen. Volunteering him to babysit Mira didn’t sound like any less work. “I’ve got three weddings Friday and a bar mitzvah on Saturday morning. I’ll be comatose by noon. Ask Daphne when she gets here.”
“Nope. Daphne’s got her own string of weddings with me this weekend. Think of this as your second chance at a first impression. Show Mira Chicago. I need her to be very happy with her choice to move here and help me out. Make her fall in love with it the way we all did.”
Sam’s idea of a fresh start was saying hello in the mornings, and
not
offering her a chocolate éclair. “That’s a tall order for one afternoon.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Ben snapped. “Do the Shedd Aquarium, or the Field Museum. Take a carriage ride down the Magnificent Mile. Hell, go to a street festival.”
“Excuse me, but did I suddenly turn invisible? You’re all discussing my Saturday as though I don’t have a say in it.” Mira glared at each one of them in turn. It was an expression already quite familiar to Sam. “Perhaps I’d like to arrange my own plans.”
The fact that she hated the idea as much as he did cheered Sam up a bit. At least they were finally on the same page. “You’re right. Twenty-first century, free will, a woman’s right to choose—all good things.”
“Individually, yes. But not in this case.” Ivy flipped into full wedding-planner mode, which turned her into a velvet-covered steamroller. “Mira, you’re wonderfully independent, but you need to learn to lean on other people. Chicago’s too big to take on by yourself. Let Sam show you around. Time together away from work will lead to better working conditions when you’re coexisting five feet away from each other. Do this for the good of the store.” Ivy finished with an imploring smile that didn’t at all reveal she knew Mira and Sam had no choice but to fall in with her plan. Everyone always did. If she ever used her persuasive powers for evil, the world would be in big trouble.
“Fine. Anything for the store.” Mira turned to Sam with a smile less believable than a crisp three-dollar bill. “I’m all yours.”
Her words blasted an image into his head with the focused heat of a crème brûlée torch. Mira, back in that sexy red bathroom at her store, only this time she straddled his lap. Hands on his knees, she leaned back, thrusting her breasts at him, with a what-are-you-waiting-for look inviting him from beneath half-lowered eyelids to take everything she offered. The warmth in between her widespread legs seeped into his skin. Sam reached out to grab her waist and pull her closer—
And realized he’d actually reached out with both hands toward Mira. Here, on the deck, in front of everyone. Good thing Ben foisted that extra shirt on him, because it flapped low enough to cover the rock-hard bulge straining the front of his shorts. Nothing short of a jump into Lake Michigan would put out the fire she’d unknowingly lit. Wait. There was the solution to his problem.
Smoothly, he kept reaching forward as if he’d intended to all along, and took Mira’s hands. They were as soft as he remembered, and it took all his concentration not to rub his thumb in small circles over the top. “Let me take you on the architectural river cruise. You’ll get to see all the historic buildings and end up in Lake Michigan with a view of the city that can’t be beat.”
“Sam, that’s perfect,” said Ivy.
So perfect. He’d get to sit down the whole time, which was halfway to napping in his book. The tour guide would keep up a steady chatter during the whole boat ride, which meant he wouldn’t have to say a word. “I’ll pick you up at two-thirty.”
“Oh, no. I’m not falling for that again.” Mira snatched back her hands. “Besides, I need to start learning how to get around this city on the El. I’ll meet you there.”
Yep, a serious grudge-holder. Their fresh start was already tarnished. He hoped Ivy still gave him full credit for trying. “Fine,” Sam snapped. “Take the red line to Lake Street. Once you get off, walk two blocks to the dock at the Michigan Avenue bridge.”
Mira inclined her head into a nod stiffer than one of his wedding cake dowels. “It’s a date.” Without waiting for a response, she broke away to greet Daphne.
Sam waved his hands in a crisscross pattern. “Did you hear that? What the hell, Ivy? This isn’t a date. Nobody offered a date. There’s a whole set of expectations built into a date. He,” with a vicious stab of his finger in Ben’s direction, “specifically ordered me not to date Mira.”
For the third time in less than an hour, identical looks of confusion targeted Sam. Ben threw in a bemused head tilt. “Wow. How many of your own doughnuts did you eat today? You’re jacked higher than a kid who mainlined a whole pack of Pixy Stix.”
“It’s nothing more than a figure of speech,” Ivy soothed, with a gentle pat on his arm. “Mira has no intention of dating you, and absolutely no expectations.”
“Good.” Although he didn’t care for how quickly Ivy ruled him out. She could do worse, right? Sam might not have fresh notches on his bedpost every week like Gib, but he knew how to treat a woman right. Did Ivy think he wasn’t good enough for her friend? Her super classy, apparently wealthy friend? Was Mira a blue-blooded snob who’d turn up her pert nose at his flour-and chocolate-covered hands?
Well, she’d better leave her uppity attitude at home on Saturday. He’d show her such a good time she wouldn’t know what hit her. By the time they got off that boat, Mira Parrish would be head over heels with Chicago, and label Sam Lyons her new best friend. Her report back to Ivy would be filled with awe and wonder. Then all of his friends would get off his back about being nice to the new girl.
And he could get back to worrying about his real problems: namely his mother, his sister, and how his entire life might be decided in the next two months.
Chapter Four
Be
nice
.
Be
charming
. Sam repeated the words over and over in his head as he paced the length of the ship. For some reason, Mira brought out the worst in him. Weird, since he’d always thought of himself as a pretty laid-back guy. It took a lot to ruffle his feathers. Or, for the past week, a little over a hundred pounds of smoking-hot brunette with eyes as blue as the pilot light in his oven. Maybe if he concentrated on her very agreeable looks, he could ignore whatever disagreeable things came out of her mouth.
“Ahoy!” Mira waved at him from the dock. Sam nodded at the captain, indicating she was with him. The man helped her across the gangplank. Then Sam noticed him stare another minute at her ass as she boarded. Not that he blamed him. Mira looked adorable in tight white jeans and a bright red shirt that dipped low over her breasts. A ponytail swung back and forth out the back of a ball cap. Good thing she hadn’t worn something fancy and expensive. High heels like she’d worn the other night and the pitch of a boat didn’t go together well. He’d give her credit for dressing sensibly. Maybe this cruise wouldn’t turn out so badly.
Mira gestured at the gangplank, then back to his spot at the rail. “I know I said I could get here on my own, but really? You couldn’t wait for me on the dock?”
Not even a hello before she laid into him. This voyage was going to feel as long as the entire three-year run of
Gilligan’s
Island
. “Expecting a red carpet, princess? Maybe a glass of champagne and a welcome from the cruise director? It’s a sightseeing boat, not a honeymoon cruise.”
“The boat is fine.” She tipped down her sunglasses to glare at him over the rims. “However pie-in-the-sky it might be, I was hoping for some common courtesy. Since you agreed to be my escort on this excursion, I assumed we’d board together.” As she snarked at him, Mira widened her stance and planted her hands on her hips. “Isn’t us getting to know each other Ivy’s grand yet transparent scheme for today? Because I’m more than capable of taking in the sights by myself.”
If only she would. Sam shrugged. “You’re here now. We’ll cast off any minute. What’s the problem?”
His calm seemed to only provoke her more. Mira swung her arm wide, first at the rail, then back to him. “It’s not like you have a track record of being reliable with me. If I hadn’t seen you at the rail, I would’ve stood down there, wasting my entire afternoon waiting for you. Oh, and wasted thirty dollars I can’t spare when you’d already purchased the tickets.”
“You’re welcome, by the way.” Come tax time, he’d deduct both tickets as a business expense. She’d made it damn clear there wasn’t an ounce of pleasure to be had this afternoon.
Basic manners finally poked a hole through her abrasive demeanor. Mira sucked in a short breath, then a long, slow exhale. “Sorry. I appreciate the ticket. But why on earth didn’t you wait for me?”
Sam tried to turn his gritted teeth into more of a grin than a grimace. He pointed to the rows of folding chairs along the top deck. “I wanted to save us the best seats. Got here half an hour ago to score them. On a day this nice they tend to sell out, and people are stuck sitting indoors.”
“Oh.” She looked down at the sweater she clutched with both hands. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” Sam put his hand in the small of her back to guide her. Spine as rigid as a granite countertop, Mira walked silently beside him. “Here we are. Smack dab in the middle for a smooth ride.” He picked up the backpack and baseball cap holding their place.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted out as she sank onto the plastic chair. “Reserving our seats was very thoughtful. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
Snapped? He’d feel less beat up if the entire Bears defense had tackled him. “Why should today be any different?” Then it hit him. “Oh. Did Ivy give you the same lecture about getting along that she gave me?”
Mira tilted her head, perusing him from under the brim of her cap. “No. I’m delightful. I get along with everybody.”
He’d believe it if he ever saw it. “Right.” Sam stretched the word out slowly. “You dumped a drink on me and hit me over the head because we’ve taken such a shine to each other so far.”
“Mitigating circumstances, both times.” She dismissed the encounters with a lazy hand wave as she hooked her sunglasses in a belt loop. “Did Ivy really have to order you to get along with me?”
“Maybe.” How much should he admit? After talking to the guys, he’d been willing to take the lion’s share of the blame for his two less than great encounters with Mira. On the other hand, she’d just verbally eviscerated him. That kind of attack made a guy unwilling to fall on the sword. “Let’s just say I agreed a fresh start might be in order. But I’ll take an extra dollop of delightful if you’re offering it today.”
Mira smiled. For the first time, she smiled full force straight at him. Good thing he was sitting down, because the power of it would’ve dropped him on his ass. Her face transformed with that smile, and her eyes lit up. She looked genuinely happy, approachable and downright beautiful. A smile like that could practically be weaponized. It could make men leap tall buildings, or at least feel like they could, as long as she kept smiling.
“You know what?” She stretched out her arms along the backs of the seats and lifted her face to the sun. “It is a spectacular summer day. This morning’s shower cleared out most of the humidity, and I’m on a river on my first day off from my fabulous new job. Delightful doesn’t begin to describe it.”
Something was off. Sure, he liked this version of Mira about a thousand percent better than the one who’d boarded the ship five minutes ago. But the change was too abrupt, as though she’d flicked a switch. While Sam had as little understanding as most men of a woman’s mind, it was obvious something was off. He’d rather deal with it now than spend the afternoon braced for the next unpredictable mood swing.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “When you bit my head off without meaning to—was there another reason? Did you get turned around on the El and have to backtrack a few stops?”
“No. The city of Chicago didn’t invent public transportation, you know. It isn’t that complicated.”
Okay, now her sass was back, but at an acceptable level. “Spill,” he ordered.
Her prim and proper side took the lead and straightened in her seat, crossing her ankles. “We’re practically strangers. It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to burden you with my problems.”
“Sounds like a line from a soap opera.” His mother kept a tiny set in the back of the bakery just to stay current with her soaps. The number of times she manufactured an excuse to hustle to the kitchen and catch a few minutes astounded him. Whenever possible, Sam turned it to C-SPAN, but a lot of daytime drama had trickled into his brain nonetheless. “Look, everyone has problems. They tend to get better if you share them.”
Mira shifted again. She fiddled with the bill of her cap, then tucked her hands under her thighs. The engines rumbled to life, but the noise didn’t fill the empty thought balloon hanging over her head. As they pulled into the grayish-green center of the Chicago River, the other fifty passengers cheered and clapped. And still Sam waited. The sound system let out an earsplitting whine. After a couple of thumps on the microphone, the guide started his practiced spiel. Facts, figures and historical tidbits came fast and furious.
“My parents called,” Mira said in a quiet voice.
That was her big mood-killer? Sam worked elbow to elbow with his mom ten hours a day, and he didn’t go around biting off people’s heads. Not even when said mother offered up his only free afternoon to babysit the snippy new girl. “Oh, the horror.”
“Obviously you and your mother have a close relationship.” She slid him a knowing, sidelong glance. “Maybe too close, according to Gib.”
“I object. Hearsay.” Everyone said the British were reserved and tight-lipped. So how come Gib flapped his jaws nonstop? The man was almost as bad a gossip as Milo. They both could chitchat the girls in their group under the table.
“Well, consider yourself lucky. Not everyone enjoys that level of closeness.” Mira looked away again. Was it an interest in the glass-and-steel skyscrapers along the water’s edge, or simply a desire not to look at him? “I don’t get along with my parents. At all. And I assure you, the feeling is mutual.”
“That’s too bad.” Sam couldn’t imagine living like that. His family had always been so tight-knit. The bottom dropped out of his world when his dad died, and they were all still struggling two years later to pick up the pieces. Out of that encompassing sadness, the one bright spot was that he and his mom grew even closer. The flip side was his worsening relationship with his sister, Diana. She who was the black hole currently sucking his life and his future away. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“Nope. The family’s hopes and dreams are all riding on me. Or, if you believe my parents, the hopes and dreams were buried a few years ago under the crushing disappointment I turned out to be. They call every six months or so to layer on the guilt. It never goes well. I usually dive for ice cream or wine as soon as they hang up.” She flashed him another determined smile. “But today, I get to go on a boat ride instead.”
“No reason to skip a good coping mechanism.” Sam dug in his pack. He produced two plastic glasses and what Gib had promised was a more than decent bottle of Riesling. “I brought provisions.”
“I’m impressed.” She took the glasses so he could pour.
He paused after filling only one glass. “I should probably check before I ply you with alcohol. Do you know if you get seasick?”
Mira sipped quickly from the filled glass, as if concerned he’d take it back. “No worries in that department. I got my sea legs before I could walk. We’d yacht around the Côte D’Azur or the Greek islands over spring break. What I liked better, though, were the summers at our house on the Cape when I raced sailboats.”
“Wow.” Sam almost dropped the wine bottle. They weren’t from two different worlds. They were from two different universes. He recorked it and stowed his bag below his seat. Then he took a long, slow swallow to buy time while he recalculated everything she’d done and said so far.
When Ben mentioned at the party that Mira came from old money, he’d dismissed the information. Coming from money wasn’t the same as having it now, in this century. Chicago was chock-full of people related to railroad or stockyard barons. Thanks to wars and the Depression, all that many in this generation had left were a bunch of swanky stories. But Mira sounded like she was loaded. Hell, yachting and summer houses? Make that wipes-her-ass-with-hundred-dollar-bills loaded.
He hadn’t started the day expecting them to have much to chat about. Now Sam was positive they had less than nothing in common. Aside from a single connecting door between their shops. And how long could you talk about a door?
Mira elbowed him. “What?”
No point dancing around it. “You’re crazy rich, aren’t you?”
“You mean you didn’t know?”
Surprisingly, she looked embarrassed. Since when didn’t the rich love to brag about themselves? Sam met new clients every week who insisted on bragging how many thousands of dollars the flowers and the photographer and the dress cost before they’d pipe down long enough to sample his gourmet wedding cakes. In his experience, the bigger the price tag, the more they wanted to tell everyone. It drove him nuts. He far preferred the everyday bakery clientele, who came in for cookies or a birthday tart. They always had a smile, and bothered to ask after his mom if she wasn’t around. Real people, not walking bank accounts who measured everything by their net worth.
Sam scratched the back of his neck. “How would I know something like that? You don’t walk around with a giant green dollar sign across your back.”
Wine sloshed over the edge of her glass, and he nipped it out of her unsteady hands. Mira’s words tumbled out so fast he could barely keep up. “I thought you all knew. Daphne said Ivy told her all these stories about me over the years—where I went and what I did.”
“I’m a guy. There’s every chance Ivy mentioned you and I tuned it out. Ivy talks a lot. If I paid attention to everything she said, my brain would’ve filled up two weeks after I met her.”
Her cheeks reddened. Mira bit her bottom lip, but it still trembled. Embarrassment morphed into—oh God, was she about to cry? Sam panicked. He’d brought wine and sunscreen, not Valium and a box of tissues. Then he noticed all the heads swiveled in their direction, rather than facing out at the historic architecture along the riverbank.
“Come with me.” Sam took her slender wrist and led her down the stairs to the very front of the boat. It gave them privacy, aside from the circling seagulls. Plus, the gusty wind at the prow might whip away those tears hovering on her lashes. He couldn’t tell if she wanted to talk about it or not. Should he leave her in peace and retreat to the upper deck? Christ, if Ivy found out he made her friend cry, his life wouldn’t be worth two cents. How the heck did you comfort someone who yachted around the world?
Mira shifted out of his grip to hang on to the railing with both hands. “I’m so sorry.”
Not at all what he expected to hear. “For what?”
“For sounding like an idiot. I never should’ve mentioned those trips. But I figured that for once I didn’t have to hide my background. The cat was already out of the bag.”
“Mira, you don’t have to hide who you are. You don’t have to hide anything.”
“Yes, I do. Trust me. I’ve been doing it for years. Do you think I didn’t see the expression on your face? The disbelief, followed by an immediate layer of glacial frost? The automatic
she
must
think
she’s
too
good
for
me
reaction I’ve encountered a thousand times? When people immediately stop seeing me and only see money?”
Sam didn’t know what to say. She was right. Once he figured out her net worth hovered near the level of a small country’s GNP, it put a filter on everything Mira said. That filter was based on his experience with the über-wealthy, as well as stories from his friends. Gib’s job as manager of the swankiest hotel in town provided an endless fodder of bad attitudes coupled with over-the-top excess.