Carolina Heat (22 page)

“Two smothered waffles.” Mark smiled at the waitress, who merely scribbled down their order and then walked away, still without having uttered a single word. “Hmm—maybe the hoop on her lip prevents her from using her mouth. Hope it’s good for her love life. Her attitude sure won’t help rake in the big tips.”

Annabelle squinted at him. “Did you hear a word I said? I’m in the middle of a rant. This isn’t the time to evaluate the customer service downfalls of facial piercings.”

Mark calmly stirred his coffee. In the blink of an eye, comprehension washed over her.

“You were baiting me. Trying to get a rise out of me.”

Mark grinned. “Of course I was. You get worked up so easily over the smallest thing. Then your cheeks get red and you start lecturing me. I think it’s adorable. When the opportunity presents itself, I can’t resist.”

“Arguably the single most backhanded compliment I have ever received. Far worse than when I compared you to a coat.” She shook her head and smiled. “But I enjoy compliments, no matter how oddly they’re presented. I’m on to you now, though. Don’t expect me to fall for it next time.”

Their plates were unceremoniously dumped in front of them. Again, the young waitress disappeared without a single word.

“You know, if I was one of those slice-of-life reporters, I could do an entire segment on our mute, pierced friend.” Annabelle gestured with her fork as the girl sauntered to the opposite end of the counter. “There’s got to be a story there. Is she saving money for college? Or the sole support of an infant? Or did her parents kick her out over all the piercings, and this job is all she has?”

Mark methodically cut a grid through his waffle, topped with cheese, hash browns and an egg. “Do you look at everyone like that? Do you mentally dissect each person you run across in a day?”

Annabelle snorted. “Maybe if there were thirty-six hours in a day
and
I didn’t have a job. I juggle so many things on a daily basis, I barely have the time or energy to remember to drop off my dry-cleaning.”

“Any trouble remembering to pick it up?”

“Of course not.” She inhaled a huge bite of waffle. “When my closet gets so empty it echoes, I know it must be time.”

“Foolproof system you’ve got going.”

“And when the system breaks down, I can always go shopping. Really, it’s like a built in bonus.”

“In that case, what made you wonder about our Lady of the Piercings?”

“It’s a game—a hobby, really. It started years ago, in college. Vanessa and I were coming back from Christmas break. There was a once-in-a-century blizzard, and we were stranded at the airport for almost a day. I don’t remember whose idea it was, but we tried to guess the life stories of the people around us.” She looked down at her plate, and was amazed her breakfast was almost gone. “It embarrasses me to admit the twist was definitely my idea.”

“Troublemaker in your younger years? I’m intrigued.” Mark waggled his eyebrows.

“Nothing that exciting. I’m so insanely curious I couldn’t stand making up stories about those people and not knowing if I was right. We’d find an interesting-looking person, and each of us would come up with a brief life history. Then we’d put a dollar each in our hands, and walk right up to that person to find out who was right.” She rested her elbows on the counter and tucked her chin in her hands. It was a bright, shiny memory of Vanessa, and sharing it with Mark felt right.

“The first guy had a buzz cut, and was dressed in camouflage and boots. Vanessa went the easy route, asked him if he was a soldier. He looked at the dollars clutched in our fists and asked me what I thought he did.”

“And what did you say?”

“Wasn’t sure about the profession entirely, but he had a blue, non-camo carry-on at his feet. My guess wasn’t a soldier, but a hunter. He gave me a thumbs up, nipped Vanessa’s dollar right out of her fingers and handed it to me.”

“And thus an investigative reporter was born.” Mark clinked his coffee cup against hers in a toast. “How much money have you won over the years?”

Annabelle looked up at him swiftly. “What on earth makes you think after all these years, as seasoned professionals, we’d still bother with the wager?”

Mark hooted. “You are one of the most driven, competitive women I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.” He pushed back his empty plate, threw a twenty-dollar bill on the counter and ushered her out of the diner.

“You really think you can pigeonhole me that neatly?”

“Not at all. Not anywhere close, as a matter of fact. First thing comes to mind if I had to describe you’d be the word
complex
. But identifying a few character traits doesn’t mean I’ve labeled and filed you away in a single mental drawer.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Fine. Use your smooth-talking charm…
again
. You know I fall for it every time.”

They got into the car and were soon back on the highway. After a few miles, Annabelle twisted in her seat to look at him. “All right—you’ve officially broken me with this silent treatment. As much as it galls me to validate your labeling system, I have to admit we’ve kept up the wager. It’s what old friends do; they maintain traditions.”

“Mmm hmmm. I repeat, how much money have you won over the years? Just give me a ballpark number.”

“I can tell you exactly.”

“Doesn’t surprise me a bit. I bet you have it all tallied up someplace.” Mark glanced over at her. “You do, don’t you? A nice, neat record of every single wager for the past ten years? Darlin’, you are priceless. I think you could easily be the most adorable woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.”

“I repeat, old friends maintain traditions. Yes, there happens to be an official logbook, with our names, each wager, correct answer, and the current total.” And in an instant, another piece of her best friend was ripped out of her heart forever. “God, Mark, what if it never changes? What if I never get to make another silly dollar bet with her?”

She leaned her forehead against the window and fought to choke back a sob. “Vanessa’s my rock. What will I do without her?”

Mark took his time formulating an answer. “You’ll do what you have to do. You’ll live your life. And every time you want to pick up the phone and make another wager with her, you will remember. You’ll remember the joy it brought both of you. You’ll honor the memory of her life and take a moment. And then you’ll go on to the next moment.”

Annabelle reached silently for his hand and held on for dear life, no longer surprised at the comfort the simple gesture brought her.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Even on this stifling June day the doorman was outfitted in a full uniform, from top hat down to the white gloves.

“Welcome to the Jefferson, the finest hotel in the state of Virginia.”

“Really – is it printed on their matchbooks?” Annabelle whispered.

“Wait until we get inside. You’ll see.” Mark put a hand in the small of her back and gave her a slight push through the doorway.

She only made it two steps in the door before dropping her overnight bag. “Mark, this is amazing!”

He hadn’t visited in years, and took a moment to reacquaint himself with the majestic hotel. The grand lobby was bigger than a ballroom, and the décor looked as though time stopped in 1858. Floor to ceiling red velvet curtains tied back with gold fringed swags framed the windows. Gilt columns supported an ornate, stained glass rotunda. He picked up her bag and tugged her down the wide marble staircase.

“They used to keep live alligators in pools here back at the turn of the century. I think all the plants are a much better choice.” Mark led her to a plump, clearly antique peach and gold chair. She sank into its softness while he checked in and reserved a room for Jonathan. He returned quickly and pulled up an equally overstuffed chair.

Annabelle stretched her arms overhead and then crossed them behind her neck. “After driving through some downright depressing parts of the city, I never expected to find anything like this here. I feel like I stepped back in time. And when I did, I suddenly became extremely wealthy.”

“Don’t get used to it. We’re only staying here one night.”

“
Wanderlust
is paying all my expenses. I don’t want to put you out.”

“Don’t get me wrong—I can afford it. I just don’t want you to expect this kind of treatment from me all the time. Then it wouldn’t be special, would it?”

A woman dressed in period clothing appeared at Annabelle’s elbow and bobbed a curtsey. Her puffy white mobcap shook as she spoke.

“Welcome to afternoon tea. It is my pleasure to serve you today.” She quickly ran through a list of six different teas and returned moments later with individual, steaming pots. The china was so translucent the rose pattern showed through on the inside of the cups. A sugar bowl held actual sugar cubes with cunning little silver tongs to serve, lemon slices wrapped in cheesecloth, and a very elaborate ritual of pouring the tea commenced.

Annabelle gaped at Mark. “Do you go through this every afternoon?”

“Of course. We Southerners are quite set in our traditions.” He winked at her, smug in the knowledge he’d pleased her with this surprise. “Who has time to do this every day? Consider it my attempt to keep you from getting homesick for your New York elegance.”

“Most of New York’s dirty and frankly a pain in the neck. I spend at most ten weeks a year there in my own apartment, which, by the way, could entirely fit within this room. Are you trying to get me riled up again? I thought we were past that.”

Mark winced. “Sorry. But I swear I wasn’t thinking in terms of a negative stereotype. I was trying to make you happy. Instead, I get the impression I insulted you.”

“Nonsense,” she replied briskly. “Chalk it up to a knee-jerk reflex on my part. These are things both of us have to work through. People have baggage, make assumptions. Honestly, I was far more open-minded when I went to India for the first time than I’ve been on my trip here. I imagine both of us will run out of stereotypes to bump into fairly soon. There can’t be many left.”

Their tea tray arrived. It was chased silver, six tiers high, each larger than the one above. Four different kinds of tiny sandwiches with the crusts cut off, cookies, miniature savory tartlets, fruit-studded cakes and of course, scones. Bowls of clotted cream, butter and jelly filled the rest of the table. They each loaded up their plates, and yet barely made a dent in the tower of food before them.

“I had a tea like this once at an inn near Stonehenge. Almost as elaborate, and everything was made from scratch daily by the owner.” Mark slathered cream on his scone. His waffle was a distant memory, and he wanted to fortify himself for whatever the next few hours might hold.

“I was researching the Picts and spent the entire day interviewing a woman who was at least ninety-five. Sharp as a tack though, and told the most amazing stories. Her family had passed them down through the generations for hundreds of years. Never bothered to write any of them down, either.”

“How do you know they weren’t bedtime stories, created one night by a mother at the end of her wits?”

Mark fumbled his scone. Was she serious? Did she think he’d be taken in by a bedtime story? “Because it’s what I do.”

“Is that how your footnotes read in your papers—because I said so?”

“You’ve brought up the bane of my existence. If I had to choose one thing that could make me give up research forever, it’d be footnotes.” He snagged the last salmon sandwich from her outstretched hand.

“If I’d known you felt so strongly, I might’ve phrased my question differently.” She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. Before she could lean back, he turned and captured her lips. They were warm from the tea she’d sampled, and soft and giving. He pulled back abruptly.

“In the interest of full disclosure, I think you should know I checked us into one room.”

“Quite a bold move on your part, Mr. Dering.”

“After a while even professional researchers get tired of plotting every moment methodically. I undertook a course of action based entirely on an assumption.”

“The assumption being?” She loaded down another scone with clotted cream and offered it to him. He took it, and then held it up to her mouth.

“I’m assuming this scone isn’t the only thing you want between your lips.”

Annabelle choked on her mouthful. “Mark, there are people sitting right behind us. And it’s broad daylight!”

He was pleased by her reaction. Evidently keeping her off balance was the right strategy. “Nobody overheard me. Your honor and reputation are quite intact.”

“I don’t care about my…” she shook her head as if to clear it. “You caught me off guard. You leapt about three weeks ahead of where we were five minutes ago. Give a girl a chance to catch up.”

Mark leaned back and slowly finished the last sandwich before speaking.

“I’d say I just gave you an extra thirty seconds to think things over. By the time I refill my teacup and polish off the cream puffs, allowing extra time for polite chit chat, it should bring it to five full minutes of mulling. Two minutes to make the pro list, two minutes to counter with a list of cons, and then one minute to deliberate. But if it’s going to take you longer, we’re going to need another pot of tea.”