Chapter Three

The second Clover’s invitation fell out of her mouth she tensed and waited for the fallout—Van Gogh turning her down. Worse, him mumbling about getting back to work and actively avoiding her as he always did. Pretending these last moments hadn’t happened.

She was no stranger to some guys’ inherent difficulty in finessing social situations. In middle school, she’d finally screwed up enough courage to ask a computer club geek to the Sadie Hawkins dance, her first attempt at interacting with the opposite sex for something other than the stuff kids usually talked about. While the event may have been a feminist’s dream for female empowerment, it became her personal nightmare. Her classmate had trembled worse than she had, grunted something unintelligible, and then dashed into the boys’ john. From the sounds wafting into the hall, he’d lost his lunch.

Granted, she hadn’t been Suzie cheerleader, but she wasn’t the plague, either.

After that, she and the dude in question didn’t make eye contact or speak until junior year in high school and then only to say “hey.”

To repeat those awful times wasn’t an option now. She refused to wait endless years for what she wanted, especially when it came to Van Gogh. “My place isn’t far from here. It’s the apartment above Alice’s Wonderland, totally within walking distance. You familiar with it? The gift shop, not my place.” She gripped the binder. “Jasmina used to live there. That’s how she and I got acquainted. Alice, the shop’s owner and my landlady, has my jewelry on consignment. I make a pretty good living with what she sells. Not that she’s my only revenue source. I have other outlets. But she really pushes my stuff, you know? She’s a nice lady. Older. Dresses like a hippie, all that beaded vintage finery and…”

Clover wanted to stop but couldn’t. Inane conversation poured out in an endless flood, along with questions she didn’t let him answer. She’d never been the silent type and had always lacked a filter in what she’d said, but now was worse. She couldn’t freaking shut up.

Surprisingly, Van Gogh didn’t back away.

Maybe he couldn’t. Several times, she could have sworn he stopped breathing.

Good thing. She needed all the available oxygen. The room still dipped and swayed, her lightheadedness part anguish, part lust. He smelled amazing, lime and musk tingeing his clean scent.

She sniffed deeply and battled an urge to crawl onto his lap. “Tell you what. I’ll take this out front with me.” She held up the binder. “I’ll take the others, too.” She gathered them and cradled the lot to her chest, along with her parasol. “While you finish up your shift, I’ll wait on one of the sofas and go through the designs. That way we’ll both have ideas for tonight. If we need more, I have a tablet. We can use it to scour the Net. I’ll let you get back to work now. I’m looking forward to this. Thanks for saying yes.”

Somehow, she got to her feet and out the door, closing it too hard, the thud explosive. She should have run before Van Gogh found his voice and followed to cancel, but her rubbery legs wouldn’t support her. She slumped against the wall.

Jasmina and Lauren leaned out of a room near the lobby. They gestured her to join them.

Clover walked worse than Molly had, her parasol bumping her shin. She held the binders so tightly the plastic edges cut into her arms. “I’m okay.”

“Of course you are.” Lauren ushered her into a small office. Another playpen, a twin to the one out front, dominated the space.

Molly gurgled from inside the thing.

Clover sank to the sofa. “Do you mind closing the door?”

“Not at all. Why?”

So Van Gogh couldn’t find her and break their date. If they had one. He’d never actually said yes.

Clover gritted her teeth. Why did relationships have to be this damn hard? TV people ditched their clothes and screwed like monkeys after their first glance or hello. The babe in Quantico got it on with her dude in his car after sitting across from him on a plane. They hadn’t even exchanged names at that point. Grey’s Anatomy was no different when McDreamy had met Mer. After sleeping with him all night, she didn’t know or couldn’t recall his name. No biggie. It was only sex. Fun. The love part came later and screwed up everything.

Maybe she was doing this backward, liking Van Gogh too much, putting unnecessary pressure on him and herself.

Jasmina sat on the sofa arm and rubbed Clover’s back. “You gonna live?”

She pointed at the monitor. “Did you guys watch? Did you actually listen?”

Lauren closed the door and joined them. “Not after the first few seconds.”

“Was it that painful to see? Do you record the audio of client sessions? If so, I’d like to hear mine.”

“Why?”

Clover couldn’t recall what happened, the entire encounter a blur. “Shouldn’t you guys be working?”

Jasmina waved her hand dismissively. “Tor’s between clients. He’s manning the front counter.”

“My work’s in here.” Lauren patted Clover’s knee. “What happened with Van Gogh?”

“I’m not sure. That’s why I’d like to check the recording. See if I did or said anything dumber than the snatches I remember. I don’t want you guys watching along with me.”

“We wouldn’t do that.” Lauren leaned back on the sofa. The leather cushion puffed around her. “Did he chase you out?”

“I left before he could say no.”

Jasmina leaned over. “To what?”

“I asked him to dinner at my place and basically suggested he stay the night. At least I think I did. Everything happened so fast. I couldn’t stop talking. I told him about Alice.”

“Is she okay?” Jasmina gripped Clover’s shoulder. “She’s not sick, is she?”

“She’s fine. Told me to tell you hi the next time we talked. So, hi. I’m the one with the problem. I’m afraid to leave here. That’s why I have these.” She dropped the binders on her knees. “It was the only way I could stick around without it seeming weird.”

“I’m not following.” Lauren put the binders and parasol on the cushion to her side. “Why can’t you leave?”

“If I do, Van Gogh might not follow. This could be a replay of me and Seth Cummings.”

“Who?”

“Guy in middle school. Asked him to a dance and made him hurl. I’m not good at this. If I had my way, I’d simply tell Van Gogh how hot he is and that I’m going to die if we don’t get seriously naked. To me, speaking my mind is so much easier than flirting. Being direct and going for it works on TV all the time.”

“Better take it slower in real life, at least with him.” Lauren held Clover’s hand. “If you haven’t noticed, he’s shy around women.”

“Why? How’s that even possible? His hair, his muscles, oh my God, his chest. Have you seen it?”

Lauren offered a weak smile. “He showed it to me the first day I came here.”

That didn’t sound good. “Why would he do that? Did he like you?”

“No. Dante told him to do it. I think he wanted to impress me with Van Gogh’s talent, hoping I wouldn’t sell the place.”

“And you didn’t. You’re expanding. So you know what I’m talking about. Van Gogh’s legendary.”

“Our girl has it bad.” Jasmina slung her arm around Clover’s shoulders and shook her. “You have to understand, though, he didn’t always look the way he does now.”

“You mean perfect? Don’t tell me he’s had plastic surgery. I won’t believe it. The docs would have made him look pretty like Matt Bomer, not tough like Daniel Craig.”

Lauren straightened. “Now that you mention it, he does look a little like Daniel. Much younger, of course.”

“You’re not listening.” Jasmina wagged her finger at Clover. “Van Gogh’s long hair and muscles are recent additions. Eventually, his confidence may follow.”

“You’re saying he’s not sure of himself?”

“Oh, sweetie.” Lauren sighed. “Surely you’ve noticed.”

“No. I thought he was quiet. Intense. Moody. You know, artistic.”

“He’s that, too, but he’s also reserved. For lack of a better word, bashful. Like I used to be. When I was growing up, guys always called me the F-word, and I’m not talking full-figured.”

Clover couldn’t believe this. “You’re gorgeous.” Lauren’s honey-blond hair, blue eyes, creamy complexion, and voluptuous figure would have made her cheesecake material during WWII, the same as Jasmina. “How dare anyone say you’re fat.”

“That’s the word.” She groaned. “It took me a long time before I believed a guy as hot as Dante could want someone like me. I still have moments when I’m not sure of myself. Van Gogh’s no different, given how he looked before.”

“You guys keep saying that. Was there more than his hair and build involved? Was he in an accident and doctors had to put him back together and he’s finally healed?”

“Nothing so dramatic.” Jasmina left the sofa and rifled through papers on the desk.

Lauren frowned. “What are you looking for?”

“Those brochures you had printed up when you first came here.”

“Bottom left drawer.”

Jasmina handed one to Clover. “Check it out. That’s the old Van Gogh.”

His bald noggin resembled a newborn’s. His scraggly goatee wouldn’t win any awards. And his bod… He’d been as skinny as Clover, as narrow, too, making him seem like a teen rather than a man. She smiled. “Aw, he was cute.”

Jasmina laughed. “You got it worse than bad.”

“I’m being honest. He’s the same guy now as he was back then, just bulked up, along with some hair.” Not to mention hotter than sin. Her stomach twisted. “Did a woman cause him to change? He fell in love with her? She dumped him because she didn’t like how he looked?” He still wanted her and hit the gym, hoping that would do the trick?

Molly threw her pacifier out of the playpen.

Lauren’s shoulders sagged. “Sweetie, you know you’re not supposed to do that.”

She used an all-natural, nontoxic baby wipe to clean the nipple and popped it back into her daughter’s mouth. “My guess is inking in the front window encouraged Van Gogh to work out, though not because he wants to attract babes like the other artists do. Van Gogh’s too quiet for that, but he is human. We all want to look our best and be like everyone else, not the odd man out. I think his goal was to blend in so he could relax in front of an audience.”

“You mean pretending they’re not there.”

“Exactly.” Jasmina crossed her legs. “But only because he’s not confident yet. If he were, he’d be showing off. Trust me, you came at the right time. Snag him quick and mold him to your specifications before he gets a swelled head.”

And she’d lost her one chance, because she couldn’t possibly compete with real babes. Clover rubbed her temple. “I don’t want to snag, trap, or con him. I suck at stuff like that with guys. I simply want him to want me for who I am. Imperfect, I know, but still—”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Lauren smacked Clover’s knee. “You’re beautiful. Before I met Dante, I would have sold my soul to have your figure. With your looks you could be a high-fashion model.”

“Yeah, I know. They look like twelve-year-old boys. Maybe I should work out where Van Gogh does.”

“You should be looking forward to tonight. Are you cooking for him?”

Clover laughed, surprised she could, given her anxiety. “If I knew how to, I would. I thought we’d get a pizza on the way. Doesn’t he like that?”

“It’s one of his staples when he eats here, but not good enough for your first date.” Lauren grabbed her smartphone. “Dante and Tor’s uncle Rafe owns Castillo’s Cuban Cuisine. Best food in Northwood Village and Van Gogh’s absolute favorite place. Have you ever eaten there?”

“No.”

“You’re in for a treat. Rafe will deliver a meal you’ll never forget, starting with bocaditos, every variety. That includes ham, chicken, beef, and cheese. After the appetizers, you can dive into boliche. Ever try it?”

“No.”

“Trust me, you’ve never tasted anything as good. It’s beef roast stuffed with chorizo and hard-boiled eggs. Heaven on a plate with rice-and-bean sides. For dessert, he’ll throw in brazo gitano—that’s sponge cake filled with mango marmalade. I’ll ask him to add turrónes. They’re a mixture of toasted almonds and honey. For good measure, I’ll have him give you a few churros. You do know what they are, right?”

“Yeah, but I can’t afford what you’re talking about. I told Van Gogh that Alice was selling a lot of my stuff. That was when I was having diarrhea of the mouth. The truth is, I’m barely making it. A Domino’s pizza is all I can do. I have a coupon.”

“You won’t need it.” Lauren winked. “This is on me.”

“No, I couldn’t.”

“Too late. I already have Castillo’s on the line.” Lauren held up her finger. “Rafe?” She grinned. “Yeah, it’s me. Hi. I have an order for later. A delivery.” She listened then shook her head. “No, not here. The apartment above Alice’s Wonderland. Wait.” She pressed the phone against her boobs and spoke to Jasmina. “What’s the number?”

“Doesn’t have one. It’s on the second floor, left side. Only door there.”

“Is Van Gogh working clear through to closing?”

Jasmina nodded.

Lauren wiggled her eyebrows at Clover. “Better add a half hour for you guys to get home. Thankfully, Castillo’s is open until midnight.” She relayed the info to Rafe then killed the call. “You’re all set.”

Clover grasped her knees. “Van Gogh didn’t actually say yes. What if he bails?”

“He won’t.”

“Promise?”

Lauren chewed her lower lip. “Let’s say if he does, and I really don’t think that will happen, Jasmina and I will take you home, we’ll help you eat the food, then we’ll go clubbing. Girls’ night out.”

Jasmina smiled slyly. “That’s code for getting wasted.”

No amount of booze would make Clover forget Van Gogh. This might prove to be the worst night of her life. “I shouldn’t have dragged you guys into my problems.”

“We offered.” Lauren blew a kiss at Molly. “We’re also getting ahead of ourselves. He hasn’t said no.”

“Maybe he passed out after I left and hasn’t come to yet.”

“Let’s look.” She adjusted the monitor, bringing up Van Gogh’s station. Empty.

Clover buried her face in her hands. “He’s looking for me so he can bail.”