Snowy Mountain Nights (16 page)

Chapter 14

A
fter months of nonstop work, Garrison was exhausted. Normally, that much concentration on the firm wouldn't bother him. But there were days when he had to work extra hard just to keep his head in the game. Reyna had wrapped around his consciousness like a silken vise. Even after three months, he couldn't get her out of his thoughts.

In their time apart, they had only talked through Marceline, passing cordial messages back and forth. Once, they even spoke on the telephone at her friend's insistence. Reyna was like a drug, and he was suffering through a bad case of withdrawal.

He walked into The Newsboy, a speakeasy-style bar in Chelsea that was one of Wolfe's favorite places. Even wearing his three-piece suit, he felt right at home in the bar with its exposed brick walls, decadent and dark decor, and sumptuous scrolled ceiling that looked like finely etched bronze. The bar's clientele was casual, business and everything in between.

The place was packed, a line of chatting customers at the bar, the booths with the low miniature chandeliers and tea lights flickering on the tables. For all the people there, it still felt warm and intimate. Probably one of the main reasons his friend liked it so much. After a quick look around, he easily noticed Wolfe at a back table, his shaved head gleaming under the low lights of the bar, teeth flashing white against his chestnut skin and neatly trimmed goatee.

He already had a drink in front of him and a woman perched at his shoulder. She was obviously a stranger, but seemed to want their acquaintance to deepen before the night was through. As Garrison walked closer, Wolfe noticed him and said something to the woman. By the time Garrison arrived at Wolfe's table, she had moved on, but not before leaving behind her business card.

Wolfe stood up with a low laugh and embraced him, patting him on the back. “You look a little tired.”

“Thanks.” By the time Garrison sat down, a waitress was standing near their table. She smiled flirtatiously at Wolfe before asking Garrison what he wanted. He had to chuckle at his friend's ridiculous magnetism as he gave the waitress his order then sat back in the chair with a sigh. “Coincidentally, I
am
a little tired.”

“For you to actually admit that...” Wolfe tipped his head, eyes smiling. “Is it a woman?”

Garrison cursed. “I've been here less than five minutes, and you're already grilling me about my love life?”

“So it
is
a woman.” Wolfe laughed. “This hasn't happened in...ever.” His low chuckles drew the attention of nearly every woman nearby. “This one must be special.”

“Can I at least get my drink before you start in on me?” Garrison took off his jacket and draped it across the back of the booth. He rolled up his shirtsleeves and slowly rotated his neck until it popped once, twice.

“This girl must be doing a real number on you. Maybe you should've ordered a double.”

Just then, the waitress came back with his Martinez and a refresher of what Wolfe had. “On the house,” she murmured. She gave Wolfe a significant look then walked off with an excess of hip twitching.

Garrison smiled. “The burden of being you.”

His friend grinned back. “I won't complain.”

Garrison took a slow sip of his drink, savoring the smooth and slightly sweet cocktail of sweet vermouth and maraschino liqueur. “Speaking of a way with the ladies, where is Nichelle? I thought she was joining us tonight.”

“She might. She said she ran into an old colleague in the city and wanted to spend a few hours getting reacquainted.” Wolfe waved his glass in a vague gesture. “Honestly, I think she wanted to give us some time alone.”

“She doesn't have to do that.” Nichelle and Wolfe had known each other since they were in diapers. Their parents lived in the same neighborhood, and they had gone to pretty much the same schools until college, when she chose to go to Stanford instead of Columbia like Wolfe.

They had also pursued different graduate schools, but then Wolfe moved back to Miami to start his own business. He invited her to join him, and now it was as if they had never been apart. Garrison often wondered if there was something between them, even though Wolfe always insisted they were just friends.

“Obviously. I listen to your yammering at least once a month in one way or another.” They both smiled at the joke of Garrison being a chatterbox. “Now tell me what the hell's going on so we can get back to the important stuff.”

Without much more prompting, Garrison began to talk. It had been nearly a year since they last saw each other; Garrison's impromptu drive down to Tampa to see his mother had naturally led to an additional four hours on the road to visit his friend in Miami. They'd had a relaxing time at Wolfe's massive house on Fisher Island, talked about the women in their lives, what they wanted for the future, important things that were more difficult to talk about on the phone.

With the cocktail smoothing the rough edges of his day, Garrison told Wolfe everything about Reyna. When they met, the way she made him feel, his frustration with himself for not being able to make her trust him more. Until he voiced those thoughts, he hadn't quite realized how much he wanted her. And he
really
wanted her.

Years of seeing love's failures up close had jaded him. Watching his mother fall easily in and out of various disastrous relationships, then dealing with clients whose fairy-tale romances ended up as nightmares, had turned him against all kinds of love except the most temporary and physical kind. Emotionless couplings that left his body satisfied and his heart untouched. But seeing Reyna on that train changed something in him. And the weekend he spent with her had altered his worldview even more.

“Damn, man.” Wolfe pointed his drink at Garrison. “Then what are you doing here? You should be at her place right now telling her how you feel.”

“It doesn't work like that.”

“What? Happiness? For most people, happiness is a choice, my friend.” Wolfe braced his arms on the table, giving Garrison one of his rare, serious looks. “You want this woman. Hell, you obviously love her—” Garrison didn't bother denying it. “Tell her how you feel and give her the chance to deny you before you just pull yourself out of the race.”

“This is not a rowing event, Wolfe.” Garrison tried to laugh it off.

“Good thing, because you're a crap oarsman.”

There was a gravity to Wolfe's voice that made Garrison uncomfortably aware that perhaps he had waited too long. Maybe Reyna had found someone else in the months since they'd seen each other. He knocked back his drink, anxious for the urgency in him to subside.

He never did anything in a rush. Every move he made in his life, especially important ones, he considered carefully before taking that first step. This thing with Reyna could wait. Couldn't it? Garrison's pulse tapped double time in his throat. He signaled the waitress for another drink.

It was a long time before Nichelle finally showed. She walked in with her typical elegant flair, took one look at him and Wolfe and ordered a drink for herself from a passing waitress. She attracted more than a few stares in what she had long ago adopted as a uniform. Stilettos, a figure-hugging skirt that came just below the knee and a blouse that showed off the flare of her collarbones and nothing more.

Except for the slim gold watch, everything she wore was black. With her low-cut hair and long neck, she looked like a model from a European magazine. “I see you boys really got started without me.”

“We did.” Wolfe made room for her at the table and rested his arm at the back of her chair.

“So what did I miss?” she asked.

“Our Garrison is going to find himself some happiness if it's the last thing he does while we're here.”

Nichelle arched an elegant eyebrow and pursed her bright red lips. “Sounds intriguing. I take it this is a mission of love?”

More than halfway to being drunk, Garrison groaned. “I didn't realize I was so transparent.”

Nichelle laughed. “If you were, more than half of Wolfe's conquests would be falling all over themselves to drown in your still waters. As it is...” She gestured to him, silently noting his stiffly held posture despite being quite a few sheets to the wind.

“I don't even know what that means,” he muttered.

“It's okay, gorgeous. You don't have to.” She made a noise of pleasure when her drink came—a dirty martini—and raised her glass in a toast. “To happiness, then?”

Wolfe grinned wickedly and lifted his own glass. “To happiness.”

When the bar closed at four in the morning, they took a cab back to Garrison's apartment, where they continued talking well until after the sunrise. Then he showed them to each of his guest rooms before taking a long shower and passing out in his bed. His dreams were full of Reyna and the unforgettable sweetness of her mouth.

Chapter 15

W
hen Reyna's doorbell rang well before noon, she expected to see Louisa on her welcome mat. But her greeting fell away when she saw Marceline's face.

“Hey, honey.” They exchanged a warm hug, and Reyna invited her inside. “I'm surprised you're up this early.”

“Me, too.” Marceline, dressed in her usual casual-sexy style, defied the heat of summer in a light yellow sundress that set off the silken darkness of her skin. She wore her long hair twisted into a French roll. Her high heels tapped gently against the hardwood floors as she crossed the threshold. “But I wasn't so drunk last night that I didn't notice you were a little down.”

She headed straight for Reyna's kitchen, poured herself a glass of lemonade and joined Reyna at the wide window seat. Reyna sipped her coffee and made room for Marceline's skinny hips. Her friend sighed and kicked off her shoes. She smiled with a touch of her old mischief when the Jimmy Choo heels clattered to the floor. She stretched and wriggled her toes. “So what's going on with you? Is it Garrison?”

Reyna sipped her warm coffee but didn't say a word. Marceline laughed.

“Don't even try that tactic with me! I've seen you use it on too many people over the years.” Marceline clasped her glass of lemonade between her hands but didn't drink from it. “It's him, isn't it?”

Marceline, though one of her very best friends, wasn't someone Reyna usually talked with about romance. Marceline was someone she talked with about money, the future, how things had gotten so far off track from when they graduated high school, but for some reason the discussions of men and relationships had never been easy between them.

Reyna tipped her head back to lean into the wall and watch Marceline from beneath slightly lowered lids. It was nearly ten in the morning, and after the enthusiastic postdivorce party, she expected all her friends to be nursing hangovers in the privacy of their own homes, but Marceline looked as fresh as a beauty queen on pageant night.

Reyna was only up and sipping coffee because she had a job interview after lunch. It was with an advertising firm in the city that she'd admired for a long time. Strangely enough, it was Garrison's meddling from months before that had given her the courage to submit her application. If he thought she was good enough for Kellerman-Stark, why not a company that ranked just below them?

“Yes,” she said finally. “It is him.”

Marceline grinned in triumph. “I knew it. I figured it couldn't be a coincidence that the man you were lusting after at the resort is the same one helping me with my divorce for free.”

Reyna vehemently shook her head, not wanting Marceline to get the wrong idea. “It's not like that.”

“So you're not the reason he's helping me right now?”

“I did ask for his advice, yes, but...” She shook her head again. “Because of what happened with my divorce, I wasn't sure he was the right one to talk to.”

“What does that have to do with anything, Reyna? Back then he was doing his job. Which was to get you out of Ian's life with as little trouble and expense as possible.”

In that moment, Reyna regretted giving Marceline the full story of how she met Garrison. Her friend stared into her glass of lemonade, apparently caught up in something that had snagged her attention and would not let go. “He's a good man.”

Reyna bit her lip. “I know,” she said softly.

“Are you sure you know?” Marceline cradled her untouched lemonade in her lap and stretched out a leg toward Reyna. “If you know, then why are you moping around this apartment?”

“I'm not moping. I have an interview downtown this afternoon.”

“And that's why you're sitting around here in your pajamas drinking coffee as if you had all the time in the world?” Marceline finally put the glass to her lips and took a long swallow. Traces of the lemonade dampened the fine hairs above her lip. “If you really knew what kind of man Garrison was, you would be in his office right now, kissing his face and confessing how much you miss him.”

“Miss him?” It seemed a mild word for the irrational craving she had to see him, the sadness that permeated her days, even after all these months.

“Yes. You do. Don't even bother denying it.”

Marceline stared down into her cup again. The confidence that blew her into Reyna's apartment suddenly wavered, showing the facade that it was. She was better, but not as well as the sunny dress, freshly done hair and smiles would indicate. Marceline drew a breath.

“Did you know that Garrison always does pro bono work for battered women?”

Reyna sat up straight. “No. I didn't.” This was the first time Marceline had ever mentioned abused women; before, she always skirted any hint of a conversation about abusive relationships.

“Garrison...gave me a list of resources for where to go. He took me to a place, a home for women like me.” Her eyes flittered away from Reyna to look outside the window. “It wasn't what I thought it would be. A dirty place with desperate and broken women who were too ugly to keep a man.”

Reyna winced at the words that left her friend's mouth.

“The house is almost like mine,” Marceline said. The one she'd given up in the divorce because she couldn't stand the memories it held for her. “It's big and airy and on the water. The women are nice. It's almost like they're at a retreat or something.” A pained smile twitched across her face. “Garrison helped a lot of them. I can't thank you enough for talking to him for me. Without you, I'm not sure how all this would have turned out.” Marceline took another deep breath.

“Anyway, I didn't come here to talk about me.” She made a dismissive gesture. “Garrison is nothing like Ian.” Reyna winced at the comparison between the two men. “He's so much better than that two-faced ass your ex turned into. Even though he never shares anything private with me, I can tell he wants things to work out between the two of you. You're the one who is pushing him away and—”

Reyna couldn't keep her mouth shut any longer. “You're wrong.”

Marceline looked at her. “I've known you a long time, Reyna. Before Ian, you would've given a man like Garrison a chance. But the crap that happened when you were married changed you.”

“If it hadn't been for Ian, I wouldn't have even
met
Garrison.”

“You don't know that for sure. Not that it matters. Yes, he was the lawyer in your divorce, so what? Don't judge him from that first impression. If people met you at the tattoo studio and judged you based on that, it wouldn't be fair, either.”

She winced at the mention of her job. “There's nothing wrong with what I do.”

Marceline made a sound of frustration. “I wish you'd stop missing the point and hear what I'm telling you.”

But Reyna's deflecting and dodging hadn't stopped her ears from working. “I hear you,” she said softly.

After Marceline left, Louisa called. They tag-teamed her. In the most painful way possible, she reamed Reyna out for moping at the bar and ruining Marceline's fun.

“You need to get it together, friend,” Louisa warned in that warm acid voice of hers. “I don't want to go hunting for
your
butt next time in a damn snowstorm.”

With Louisa's words ringing in her ears, Reyna got ready for her job interview. Half her mind was focused on impressing the head of the graphic arts department. But the other was busy figuring out just exactly what she needed to do to fix things with Garrison.
If
they could be fixed.