"Maybe I do, too."
He smiled, and she was happy to see the tension erased from his eyes. "But I actually have the keys in my hand," he said. "Possession is nine-tenths of the law."
"Is that even true, or just an expression everyone likes to use?"
"I have no idea whatsoever."
"Fine. You can drive." As they got into the car, she said, "So Francine is dead. That was shocking news."
He shot her a quick look. "We still don't know if you're Francine's daughter, Olivia. Just because you have the same birth date—"
"I know. I'm jumping ahead. But I can't help thinking that if I am her daughter, I'll never get to meet her."
He frowned. "I don't know what to think about any of this. But I do know that it's been a long day. Why don't we table Molly and the Harpers and my grandmother until tomorrow? We're supposed to be taking a break from all that, remember?"
"I remember, but you should have taken me to a bar where we wouldn't run into any of your family."
"In this town, that's difficult," he said with a smile. "Speaking of this beautiful city, why don't I show you around?"
"I feel a little guilty at not diving back into the research."
"It will still be there in a few hours."
"You're right. Show me your town."
"Okay. Sit back and enjoy the ride."
Chapter Thirteen
As he started the car, Colton knew he was heading into dangerous territory. He was spending a little too much time with Olivia, and while he may have started out with the simple intention of finding out what she was up to and protecting his grandmother, his motives had definitely changed.
For one thing, he liked Olivia more than he'd ever anticipated. He'd seen her in action with his grandmother and friends, watched her reel with shock after finding out she shared a birth date with an unknown Harper child and then seen her put her own problems aside to mix in with his friends and relatives. Now, he found himself wanting to show her a lot more than just this city.
But he couldn't go down that road. Olivia was leaving in a few days, and she was still his grandfather's enemy. Even though they hadn't learned anything that could really hurt his grandmother, as far as he could see, who knew what else they would find before this was all over? And if it came down to Olivia or his family, he would obviously choose his family.
As he stopped at a light, he glanced over at Olivia. She had color in her cheeks and her green eyes sparkled as she gazed back at him. He didn't know if it was the alcohol she'd consumed at the bar, the prospect of exploring San Francisco, or if it was being with him that had put the light in her eyes, but whatever the reason, he found himself liking her expression. In fact, he felt the crazy urge to do whatever he needed to do to keep her smiling.
"What are you looking at?" she asked.
"You. You're beautiful, Olivia."
Her lips parted in surprise. "Um, thanks. That's nice of you to say."
"I'm not feeding you a line. It's the truth." He liked her somewhat awkward reaction to his words. It made her even more appealing. "I'm sure guys have told you that before."
"Well, maybe, but usually as a precursor to something else."
"Like sex?"
"It seems to be a popular lead-in," she admitted.
"But so cliché." He put his foot on the gas as the light turned green.
"You've never used the line to soften someone up?"
"Not in a deliberate way—no." He paused and flashed her a smile. "Does it work?"
She folded her arms in front of her chest. "I can't say it isn't always flattering to hear, but sometimes it's clearly insincere."
"Not when I say it."
She gazed back at him. "I think I kind of believe you."
"You
should
believe me. I don't lie."
"Never? Almost everyone tells a lie at some point in their life."
He thought about that for a moment. "I guess I couldn't say never, but it would be a very rare occasion. I don't have time for it. Lies take effort."
"So you're just a lazy honest person," she teased.
"Perhaps that's part of it. But aside from being lazy, I like to stand up for what I believe in. Or if I've done something wrong, I admit it. It seems an easier way to go."
"Easier maybe, but most people have an instinctive urge to protect themselves, so when they're in trouble, they go for the lie. In my research interviews, I've seen that a lot."
"Who else have you researched besides Carlton Hughes?"
"Probably the most interesting person was Stefano Violetti, Italy's most eligible bachelor billionaire."
"And what was he like?"
"Gorgeous, charming and quite good at keeping secrets."
"That sounds interesting."
She tipped her head. "That's what the book description said, and it was interesting enough to sell a million copies."
"What kind of secrets was he keeping?"
"Well, he wasn't actually a bachelor. He'd married a girl when he was eighteen. I found the marriage certificate when I was doing my research."
"How old is he now?"
"Thirty-four. So it had been sixteen years since that marriage when I found the certificate."
"Tell me the story," he encouraged, as they came to another stop.
"Stefano married Yvette St. Moray at the courthouse of a very small town in France during his summer of European travel before he was to start his freshman year at Harvard. They fell madly in love and married in secret just before he left for school in September."
"Why was it a secret?"
"Because his family was very wealthy, and they wanted him to go to the university. They didn't want him to marry a beautiful but poor woman who split her time between waiting tables and trying to be a chef. For two years Stefano and Yvette would travel back and forth between the U.S. and France. Stefano would fly her out whenever he could. But eventually the distance was too great, and they split up."
"But neither one filed for divorce?" That didn't make sense.
"No. When I confronted Stefano with the information I'd dug up, he admitted to me that there was a part of him that still loved Yvette, but he hadn't seen her in over twelve years."
"He must have done something to screw her over."
"Why do you say that?" Olivia asked curiously.
"Because he was rich and he was going to be a Harvard grad. I think Yvette could have hung on until graduation unless she had another reason to get rid of him. So I think he screwed her over."
Olivia nodded. "You're right. Stefano cheated on her, and she found out about it. I got that information from Yvette, who is still single, and still beautiful, by the way. She's a chef now at a small restaurant in the south of France. She's very much a free spirit, but not so free that she could forgive Stefano's transgression. However, I saw something on her face when I first mentioned his name, and I think it was love, maybe a little regret."
"You are really good at this, Olivia."
Surprise flashed in her eyes. "Good at what? Digging up scandal?"
"That—and telling a great story. I am completely captivated by Stefano and Yvette's love story, and I am not a man who usually enjoys a romantic chick flick. I prefer action. But somehow you have spun this story to me in such a way that I want to know if they're going to get back together."
She laughed. "Thanks for the compliment, but Stefano and Yvette's story is not fiction; it's real life. I can't write the ending without them."
"But you probably gave their real-life ending a nudge. I don't believe you just left without trying to do something."
"You are reading me a little too well, Colton. Yes, I gave them a big nudge. I forced them into the same room together."
"And? Don't leave me hanging."
"They looked at each other as if no time had passed. There was love, there was anger, there was everything. And then I left them alone."
"You left?" he asked incredulously.
"I had to move on to Philip's next project," she said defensively. "His story on Stefano was done, and that meant I was done."
"How long ago did this happen?"
"Almost two years now."
"And you never checked up on Stefano and Yvette in all that time?"
"Yes, I did check up on them," she admitted. "And Yvette told me that they are spending time together again, and she thinks they might have their happy ending after all."
He nodded. "Good, you had me worried."
"Worried? Why? You just told me you don't like romantic stories."
"Well, if I have to sit through one, I'd prefer that no one died in the end. It all seems a waste to me when that happens."
"Me, too. So where are we going, Colton? So far all you've shown me is traffic."
"I have a few spots in mind. The road should open up in a couple of blocks."
"It's fine. It gives me a chance to look around the city. The skyscrapers are quite impressive. Not as many as New York, but definitely some with their own unique charm like that one that looks like a pyramid."
"The Transamerica building. It definitely sticks out along the skyline."
Ten minutes later the traffic eased up, and as he got closer to Chinatown, he was able to find a parking spot not far from where he wanted to go. As he shut down the engine, he said, "We have to take a little walk."
"Are you going to tell me where we're going now?"
"Nope."
"Tease," she said back to him, as he met her on the sidewalk.
"It will be more fun this way."
"You're lucky I like an adventure."
"I figured you would. You have a very curious mind, and I have come up with something to show you that is right up your alley—no pun intended."
"Pun?" she queried.
"You'll see." Two minutes later he led her into a narrow, dark lane. "This is Jack Kerouac Alley. I assume you've heard of him."
"Of course. He was in the Beat Generation and wrote the novel
On The Road
in allegedly three weeks, in a frenzy of alcohol and drug-induced ramblings. At least that's how the story goes."
"I did not know that. Actually, I don't know much about him at all. However, my mom is a fan of his work. She's an avid reader, and she showed me this alley when she took me to the City Lights Bookstore, which we just passed. Apparently, Kerouac used to hang out there."
"Interesting."
"But the cool part of this alley are the plaques on the ground." He was happy to see there was enough light from the surrounding buildings to be able to see the plaques. But he took out his phone just in case and switched on the flashlight feature as they neared the first plaque in the ground. "Can you read it?" he asked.
"Yes. It says '
Poetry is the shadow cast by our streetlight imaginations
,'" Olivia read, finishing with the author's name. "Lawrence Ferlinghetti." She paused. "I've never heard of him, but I like the quote."
They walked further down the alley. "How about this one?" He paused in front of a large circular plaque that almost covered the width of the alley and read the words aloud: "'
The air was soft, the stars so fine, the promise of every cobbled alley so great…
' That was by Kerouac." He looked at Olivia. "I wonder if he wrote that one when he was boozed up?"
"Who knows? A lot of genius writers seem to have been inspired by the bottle. I like this quote.
'Love lights more fires than hate extinguishes
.' Ella Wheeler Wilcox."
He laughed. "I haven't seen too many fires started by love. Gasoline and matches are another story."
"Some love stories are filled with gasoline and matches in a figurative sense. One person is the spark, the other is the fuel. Together they burn."
Her words were as mesmerizing as her eyes and her lips, her really, really inviting mouth…
She put her hand on his arm, and Colton started, realizing he'd lost all sense of time and place. Had he been looking at her for a minute or five minutes? He actually had no idea, and it was a very disconcerting feeling.
Olivia's eyes sparkled in the shadowy light. He could hear the traffic a short ways down the alley and laughter coming out of a second story apartment over one of the businesses that backed onto the lane, but the rest of the world still felt very far away.
"Colton?" she murmured, a question in her eyes.
He had no idea how to answer that question, except with a kiss. He could feel the pull between them, and while his mind was telling him to resist, his body was saying, go for it!
Before he could move, Olivia's hand fell from his arm. She stepped back. Cool air flowed between them.
He had the strangest feeling he'd just missed his chance, and he didn't like it.
"Thanks for bringing me here," she said. "Where shall we go next?"
His apartment came to mind—or maybe her hotel room. Any place with a bed. Any place they could be alone.
When he didn't answer, she said, "We should go someplace that means something to you. This alley was for me. As a writer, you knew I'd appreciate it. So where do firefighters go—besides the local firefighters' bar?"
He cleared his throat, trying to get his brain back on track. "Coit Tower is a special place. It's a monument that resembles a fire hose, and it was built to honor the firefighters who fought to save the city after the 1906 earthquake. Unfortunately, the tower is closed at night. It's too bad, because it has one of the best views of the city."
"Maybe we can go another day."
"If you haven't left yet," he said, reminding himself that she would be leaving soon. A few days from now, she might be completely gone from his life.
"If I haven't left yet," she echoed softly. "So no tower, but there must be other places in this hilly city that have a great view."
"My apartment building has a rooftop deck. It's what sold me on the rental. There's rarely anyone there, so I often go up to think or just have a beer and unwind."
She stared back at him, indecision in her eyes, then she said, "I'd like to see that view."
He almost asked her if she were sure but then he decided he didn't want to give her a chance to back out, so instead, he said, "Let's go."