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“How do I look?” Grammy Dean patted her gray curls and checked her red-hot lipstick in the Honda’s rearview mirror.
“You look great, Mom.” Carol stashed her keys in her purse.
“I looked great about forty years ago,” Grammy fussed. “No one looks great at eighty.”
“Sure you do,” Andie said. “You have all those beautiful laugh lines on your face.”
Grammy Dean frowned, and all of her wrinkles turned south.
Andie hung in the backseat, hesitant to open the door. She looked through the window at the Olympian Estate. Who would name a housing development Olympian Heights? And who would build a Tudor charmer next door to a Taj Mahal wanna-be? The Tudor looked like it belonged in an enchanted forest and the Taj Mahal needed a flying carpet and a sheik.
“I can’t believe they build these mansions on postage stamp lots,” Grammy grumbled.
“Not everyone is lucky enough to live in the canyon next to an ostrich farm.” Carol climbed from the car and shouldered her handbag. “I bet each of these postal parcels run about three million, maybe more, if there’s an ocean view.”
Ever since Carol had signed on with 21st Century, she had become a walking Wikipedia of Southern Orange County real estate factoids. Andie recognized that her mom needed money, and that selling real estate was much more profitable than weaving exotic fabrics, but sometimes Andie missed the old Carol—the one that wore peasant skirts and hand-painted beads.
Carol tugged on her blazer and brushed off her wool pants. At Grammy’s insistence, they had stopped at McDonalds on their way to Newport so that they wouldn’t be shamefully hungry at Kayla’s bridal shower. Andie climbed from the car and followed her mom and grandmother past the Mercedes and BMWs lining the street. She hung back when her mom pushed open the gate leading to a three story Colonial. Roses in every shape and color bordered the brick walkway. She inhaled the warm ocean air laced with the smell of citrus trees.
Andie reminded herself of the missionaries, and the devastated homes in the Philippines. She imagined the grinding poverty of most of the world, and compared it to the Dodd’s grandiose opulence. She decided that she hated the warm cranberry double doors with the brass lion-head knockers and, therefore, she must also hate all of the Dodd’s. Mrs. Dodd, Mr. Dodd and especially Grayson Dodd.
The bell chimed when Grammy Dean pushed it, and seconds later, Kayla, dressed in a green silk sheath, flung open the door. In her typical over-the-top bubbliness, Kayla screamed when she saw them. She threw her arms around first her grandmother, then her aunt, and finally Andie.
“I’m so glad you could come,” Kayla said, taking her grandmother’s hand and pulling her into the house. “I know it’s so far for you.”
She made it sound as if they lived in Kansas, instead of the canyon twenty miles away.
“This is a really beautiful home,” Carol said.
Kayla flipped her long blonde hair over her shoulder and smiled at her aunt. “And the people that live here are just as beautiful on the inside as their house is on the outside.”
Andie frowned at the oriental rugs on the wide planked wooden floors, the ebony grand piano near the massive stone fireplace, and the family portrait hanging above the mantle. She stopped in the hall, rooted to the carpet, while her cousin, grandmother, and mom passed through the dining room and a pair of open French doors.
Laughter floated from the conservatory. The smell of grilled shrimp mingled with fresh baked rolls hung in the air, beckoning her to the party, but Andie stood frozen in the hall, staring at the painting.
A beautiful woman with her blonde hair tucked into a chignon and dressed in a lace dress sat in a chair. A man that looked like a young George Clooney in a dark suit with a maroon tie stood behind her, his hand on her shoulder. Two little blond, blue-eyed boys dressed in gray three-piece suits stood on either side of their mother. One wore glasses.
“Would you like to meet my family?” asked a familiar voice. “Or are you okay just studying them?”
Andie put out a hand to brace herself against the wall. She closed her eyes, took a steadying breath and turned to face the voice and face she thought she knew. She blinked at Grayson Dodd, or the Grayson Dodd clone.
“Are you Grayson?” she asked.
He shook his head and held out his hand. “I’m Whit.”
Andie swallowed and placed her hand in his. Warmth tingled up her arm, and she dropped his hand as if it were poisonous. “Did I break your glasses?”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures.”
High heels clicked into the room, and Andie tore her gaze away from Whit’s blue eyes to watch his mother hurry toward them. Although at least fifteen years must have passed since the portraiture was taken, Mrs. Dodd hadn’t changed at all, other than trading the lace dress for a silk blue tunic that perfectly matched her eyes.
“Are you bushwhacking the guests?” Mrs. Dodd scolded her son. “You do know that boys are not welcome here, right?”
Whit gave his mom a tight smile. “Mom, this is Andie Hart. She’s Kayla’s cousin.”
Andie tried not to flinch under Mrs. Dodd’s scrutiny as she considered the fact that Whit Dodd knew not only her name, but also her pedigree.
“Aside from your coloring, you look very much like her,” Mrs. Dodd said, after running her gaze up and down Andie, probably taking note of Andie’s Payless shoes and designer knock-off skirt and blouse. “Are you a model as well?”
“Andie works on the other side of the lens as a photographer,” Whit said. “A very talented one.” He casually dropped his arm around Andie’s shoulders and pulled her against him, bumping his hip with hers. He leaned as if to nuzzle her ear and whispered, “Play along with me.”
She blinked up at him, puzzled by not only him, but also the buzzing in her blood. Her stomach felt jumpy. Could she blame it on the McDonald’s snack-wrap?
“I have your camera.” His eyes locked with hers.
Sudden tears sprung in Andie’s eyes. “You do?”
He nodded.
“How do you two know each other?” Whit’s mom wagged her finger between the two of them.
Whit smiled a slow, shy grin. Andie couldn’t read his expression at all, but his mother seemed to.
More clicking high heels. “Is this where the real party starts?”
The woman had long, jet black hair and an Angelina Jolie figure draped in a silver, sparkly dress. Her red lips turned pouty when she took note of Whit’s arm around Andie’s shoulders. Andie tried to shrug him off, but he pulled her close.
“Nessa, this is Whit’s friend, Andie Hart,” Mrs. Dodd said.
Somehow she had graduated from Kayla’s cousin to Whit’s friend. The thought made her head feel light.
Vanessa turned to Andie with large, violet-colored eyes that held a lot of questions and something else...something Andie didn’t know how to define. Andie took a deep breath, deciding that she couldn’t understand any of these people. There was an undercurrent of communication that was passing her by. And that was just as well.
“It’s nice to meet you, Andie. How did you and Whit meet?” Vanessa cocked her head and showed her brilliant teeth.
Was that supposed to be a smile?
Andie touched her necklace as a bizarre image of Vanessa ripping into her throat crossed her mind.
“She’s Kayla’s cousin.” Whit tucked Andie a little tighter to his side.
He was warm. And he smelled really good—woody, herby and fruity all rolled together.
But just because he smelled good enough to eat that didn’t mean that she wanted to play along. She wanted to leave. But how? She couldn’t very well ditch her mom and grandmother, and she really needed her camera. She had spent a frantic evening searching and making phone calls... thinking it was lost. She had even called Grayson Dodd. He had told her he hadn’t seen it, but now that she thought about it, he had sounded...off. Like he was trying not to laugh.
Andie narrowed her eyes, determined not to play along...as soon as she got her camera. She turned to Whit and jabbed him in the chest. “You have my camera?”
He smiled at her, and his eyes said he was glad that she was beginning to catch on. He touched her lips with his finger. Andie staggered from surprise, but Whit kept her upright. Not liking the way her knees sagged, she straightened her spine and resisted the temptation to bite him.
“You’re a photographer?” Vanessa asked.
“More of a photo journalist,” Whit said, removing his finger. “You should visit her blog.” He looked at his mom. “She’s very charitable. Like Mother Teresa with a camera.”
Whit Dodd had looked at her blog. Very few people looked at her blog. At least in the United States. For some reason she had a healthy readership from Russia. She was constantly getting comments from Omars and Vlads, which she had always thought the weirdest thing...until now. This was definitely getting weirder.
Vanessa took Andie’s arm and pulled her away from Whit. “Come on, sweetie. The party has started, and if we don’t get in there, we’re going to miss all the chocolate.” She wrapped her arm around Andie’s waist and steered her away from Whit’s laughing eyes.
Andie glanced back at him, and he grinned. “I’ll bring your camera by tonight.”
“Tonight?” Mrs. Dodd raised her voice so Andie could still hear. “Why not just give it to her now?”
Good question. Andie wanted to stay and hear the answer, but Vanessa pulled her through the French doors and into the thick of the bridal shower.
The conservatory was probably the most beautiful room that Andie had ever seen. Beveled windows let in the early afternoon light. Ceiling fans gently blew a warm breeze around the women seated on the wrought iron chairs with cushions almost as colorful as the flowers growing in pots scattered throughout the room.
Andie instinctively headed toward her mom and grandmother, both seated at a table slightly set apart from where Kayla and her friends sat. Carol had a phony smile stamped on her face, and Grammy Dean looked tired. Both of their faces lit up when Andie entered the room. Vanessa tried to lead Andie to Kayla’s table, but Andie took the chair closest to her grandmother. After a moment of hesitation, Vanessa dropped into the chair beside her.
“Where have you been, sweetie?” Carol asked. “You missed the soup.”
“Lobster bask.”
“Bisque, Mother,” Carol corrected. “It was lobster bisque.”
“Whatever it was, it had champagne in it!” Grammy ran a tongue over her upper lip. “It was so yummy. I can’t wait to see what they bring out next.”
Vanessa studied Carol and Grammy through narrowed eyes, measuring them against a standard Andie knew nothing about. Andie reached out and clasped Grammy’s hand. “Kayla looks happy, doesn’t she?”
“She always looks happy,” Grammy said. “That’s why she got those acting bits when she was so young.” Grammy turned her big, watery eyes to Andie. “You could have been an actress, too, if you had just smiled more.” Grammy sighed. “Old sober-sides, your grandfather always called you.”
Andie gave her grandmother a sober-sides smile and looked out the window at a cluster of citrus trees. White blossoms fluttered through the air while Andie tried to think of ways to escape. There had to be a hundred, if not a thousand, excuses she could offer for ditching Kayla’s shower, but she could think of only one surefire way of getting back her camera.
She had to talk to Whit. Again. She tucked into her shrimp salad covered in a mint julep dressing, and watched Kayla coo over her pile of ridiculously expensive and impractical gifts. Suffering through the lunch with a smile seemed like the right thing to do. She promised herself she would find Whit after dessert.
“So, tell me how you and Whit met again,” Vanessa said, bracing her elbows on the table and leaning in.
Andie speared a spinach leaf and considered an appropriate answer that didn’t include the words “none of your beeswax.” What was there about Vanessa that made her belly twist? Was it fair to dislike someone just because she was beautiful, rich, and wore too much perfume? The money and beauty were probably gifts she was born with—just like someone else was born with a gimpy leg or a speech impediment—and maybe the perfume was trying to compensate for something. Maybe she had halitosis or athletes foot.
“Grayson is marrying my cousin.” Andie stated the obvious, then she chewed and swallowed a forkful of salad before she wiped her lips on a napkin and asked, “How about you? How long have you known Whit and Grayson?”
“Forever. Our daddies met at Harvard.” Vanessa paused and flashed Andie a bright smile. “I adore their family. Sophie is my girl crush.”
Andie nodded, guessing that Sophie had to be Mrs. Dodd, since the family portrait didn’t have any other females.
Carol slipped back into her chair, her cheeks red and her eyes unusually bright—even her blonde curls looked bouncier. Andie puzzled over this. She hadn’t seen her mom leave. How long had she been gone?
“Where did you go?” Grammy Dean demanded in a voice that shushed the babbling Kayla.
All the women at the bridal shower turned to hear the answer. Carol’s cheeks turned a deeper pink. “Just to the ladies room,” she said in a stage whisper. She nodded an apology to Kayla, who flashed her aunt a smile and picked up another present to unwrap.
“Well, you missed the bird costume,” Grammy huffed.
“The bird costume?” Carol and Andie asked at the same time.
Vanessa put down her fork. “It was a Fredericka negligee.”
“Looked more like a flamingo suit to me.” Grammy laughed and pointed her fork at Carol. “And you missed it. Which is a shame. You could use a little warbling and chirping.”
“Oh, Mother, how many times do I have to tell you?” Carol rolled her eyes. “I don’t have any time or interest in warbling or chirping.”
“Warbling or chirping?” a male voice echoed.
Andie twisted in her chair to watch Whit saunter into the room with her camera case in his hand. Her stomach did a flippy-twist thing, because she was relieved to see her camera, and because it sometimes did that when he was around.
“Weatherford!” his mother scolded. “You know this is no man territory.”
“Oh, he’s so cute,” Vanessa crowed, “let Weatherford stay.” She patted the empty chair beside her.
Andie’s heart did another somersault while she waited for his response.
“I can’t.” Whit smiled and came to Andie’s table. “I had to return this.” He put the camera case on the table, placed his finger under Andie’s chin and kissed her. “I’ll see you tonight.”
After he winked at Carol, he strolled out of the room.
Wait. What just happened? Andie jumped to her feet.
“Oh, honey, never chase after a man,” Grammy Dean said.
Carol’s fingers wrapped around Andie’s wrist. “She’s right, sweetie. Let him go.”
“B-but—” Andie stuttered.
“You’ll see him tonight.” Carol tugged on her wrist.
Andie glanced into her mother’s eyes and settled back into her chair.
Dessert arrived while Andie fumed and tried to sort out all of her questions. The chocolate soufflé with raspberry sauce helped her mood. Some. But the tingling on her lips just wouldn’t go away.
#
“HE DOESN’T JUST GET to say see you tonight and kiss me without some explanation!” Andie exploded as soon as they were tucked safely into the car and out of sight and earshot of Kayla’s guests.
“Oh yes, he does.” Carol’s voice had a sing-song tone that Andie didn’t like.
Andie knew her mother better than she knew anyone else, and the sing-song tone was new. And suspicious.
“No. I don’t care what he did, or who he is. He doesn’t get to kiss me without asking.” Andie clicked into her seatbelt.
Carol looked at her through the rearview mirror, her eyes smiling. “Seriously? You want to be asked before you’re kissed?”
“Well—yeah. We aren’t cavemen. I don’t want some guy to throw me over his shoulder and haul me into a cave.”
“Really?” Carol put the car in gear and laughed. “He threw you over his shoulder? Hauled you into a cave?”
“Well, not literally... more figuratively.”
“She’s right,” Grammy Dean said. “Cavemen are unattractive. All that facial hair. And notoriously bad teeth.”
“But Whit has nice teeth, right?” Carol asked. “And he’s clean shaven.”
“That has nothing to do with anything,” Andie said.
“I don’t remember his teeth,” Grammy Dean said.
Carol snuck a glance at Andie through the rearview mirror. “You can check out his teeth tonight.”
“No, I can’t. I won’t.”
Carol nodded. “He wants me to list the Founder’s Building.”
“The Founder’s Building?” Andie echoed.
“You know it. It’s right off Jamboree and the 405.”
“It’s for sale?”
Carol nodded and pulled the car through the Olympian Heights tall, brick gates.
“Why you?”
“Why not me?” Carol challenged.
“I don’t like it.” Andie frowned out the window at the sun glinting off the ocean.
“You don’t want me to land a commission worth hundreds of thousands of dollars?”
“No, of course I do.” Andie softened her tone. “It’s just...get real, Mom. What’s the catch? Your real estate career has consisted of seven house sales, and three of those were condos—”
“Don’t forget I sold that trailer park.” Carol tightened her fingers around the steering wheel. “That was a biggie.”
“And not even remotely in the same category as the Founder’s Building.”
“I can sell the Founder’s Building,” Carol said, sounding hurt.
“Of course, you can. But I’m just wondering why you.”
“Why not me?”
“I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sure that since you’ve been selling real estate for a more than a year, you are a seasoned professional.” Andie took a deep breath. “But what has that to do with tonight? And me?”
“We’re meeting Whit and Mr. Neilson tonight for dinner to discuss the listing.”
“You are meeting Whit and Mr. Neilson.”
“And you are coming with me.”
“Mom!”
Carol slammed on her breaks at a stop light and turned to face Andie. “It’s dinner. It’s not even dinner and dessert! I knew Carver Neilson in high school, and it will be fun to see him again. And you can join us...and be nice. For me.”
“And me,” Grammy Dean chirped.
“You? What do you have to do with it?” Andie asked her grandmother. “Are you going to dinner with Whit Dodd?”
“Sometimes a gal just wants the place to herself.” Grammy sniffed and looked out the window.
“There you have it.” Carol eased back into traffic. “Grammy needs some personal time, and I need you to help me land a commission from the most successful geek out of El Toro High. The price is a meal at the Beach House.”
#
“CARVER NEILSON!” CAROL gushed.
“Little Carol Lovelace!” Carver blinked, and a slow grin spread over his face. He opened his arms wide, and Andie smothered a gasp as she watched her mom fall into the man’s embrace.
Andie studied Carver Neilson and disliked everything she saw. Pants ironed to a razor-sharp crease, unbuttoned shirt revealing a mat of gray hair on his chest, and dark-brown hair strategically combed over a shiny bald spot on his head. Why was her mom giggling like a tween in a training bra?
“Carver,” Carol said, stepping out of the man’s arms, “this is my daughter, Andie. She’s the best real estate photographer in the area.”
Andie opened her mouth to protest, but didn’t want to contradict her mom in front of Carver, Whit, and all the people seated in the Beach House dining room. “I’m okay,” she mumbled, but Carver wasn’t paying attention to her or anyone other than Carol.
“Carver and I were both on the debate team in high school. Remember the arguments?” Carol stepped away from Carver, but he ran his hands down her arms so that he could take hold of both her hands.
“The only ones I remember are the ones where I tried to convince you to go out with me.”
Carol flushed a pretty pink. “I’m here now.”
“Why, yes you are,” Carver drawled.
“Maybe you would like to be over there.” Andie motioned to an empty table by the window.
Whit made an impatient motion at the hostess behind Carver’s back. The hostess stood to the side, smiling, patiently holding her menus, but she started as if caught watching a rom-com when she was supposed to be working.
“We have a lovely table on the balcony.” It was a statement with a question mark at the end.
“That will be great,” Whit said, taking Andie’s elbow and leading her through the dining room.
They passed through wide glass doors and sat at a linen-covered table at the balcony’s edge. Candles flickered on every table. The sun hovered on the horizon. Soon the light would fade, and the Laguna’s stunning coastline would disappear.
Andie turned her attention to the menu. Usually she loved food, but the thought of eating while her mother and Carver Neilson flirted turned her stomach. “What’s good here?” she asked no one in particular.
Her mom and Carver Neilson didn’t even look in her direction.
“What do you like?” Whit asked. “Seafood? Steak?”
“I like everything,” Andie said.
“Really? Huh.”
Andie lowered her menu so that she could scowl at Whit. “What does that mean?”
He shrugged and held the menu up so that she couldn’t see his face. “I’m just surprised.”
Andie thought about getting the most expensive appetizer, entree, and dessert, but reconsidered because she didn’t know who was paying, and even if Whit was paying the bill, he probably wouldn’t mind or care. Andie sighed, wishing that she didn’t have to count every single penny.
The waitress came and introduced herself as Marcy. Carver, Carol and Whit easily made their selections, but Andie debated. Eventually, she ordered a bowl of clam chowder.
“That’s it?” Whit asked with raised eyebrows.
“No.” She took a deep breath. “I also want some crackers.”
Whit laughed, and Marcy flashed him a bright smile. Andie wondered if waitresses had a radar that let them know who was responsible for their tip—an innate tuning fork that let them know who they should charm.
“Hey, I’m not laughing at your food selection,” Andie said to Whit, before turning to Marcy, but the waitress wasn’t looking at her. Marcy only had eyes for Whit. She obviously realized that the chick buying the soup wasn’t going to be the biggest tipper. “Do you have oyster crackers?”
When Marcy finally looked at her and nodded, Andie handed her the menu and said, “Good. I want a bag of those.”
Whit frowned at her and satisfaction, and maybe something like hunger, curled in Andie’s belly.
“Are you sure you don’t want more than soup?”
Andie looked back at Marcy, but the waitress was still ogling Whit. “Okay. Bring me two bags of crackers.”
Marcy’s lips twitched, letting Andie know that Marcy wasn’t completely ignoring her.
Whit handed over his menu and amended his order to a steak, a salad and the halibut.
“You’re getting two entrees?” Andie lifted her glass and swallowed a long drink of lemon water.
“No, I’m getting one for you.” He nodded at Marcy who flushed a pretty pink, turned on her heel and sauntered away.
Andie set down her glass. She wanted to tell him that he didn’t get to order for her, but thought better of it when she saw the halibut delivered to a neighboring table. “I’m not all that hungry,” she said in a small voice.
Whit followed her gaze to Carol and Carver Neilson and sympathy crinkled around his eyes.
Mr. Neilson didn’t look any less smitten than Carol as he recounted his Vietnam helicopter days. Andie wondered what an Asian jungle had to do with the Founder’s Building.
Whit tried to distract her with stories of his sporting adventures, but Andie couldn’t help sending her mom worried looks throughout the meal. Carol and Carver Neilson might as well have been on another planet.
Andie finished all of her soup, both packets of crackers and picked up her fork when the halibut arrived. “It’s too beautiful to eat,” she said. The filet sat on top of a bed of garlic mashed potatoes, surrounded by a colorful array of steamed vegetables.
“I hope you’ll eat it, but if not, we can have it boxed up and delivered to one of the homeless on the beach.”
“I can’t eat it now.” Andie put down her fork. “I was going to, but now I can’t. We have to give it to the homeless.”
“We can’t feed all of Laguna’s homeless.”
“But we can feed at least one.”
“Or two.” Whit sighed and motioned for Marcy. “Can you please box these up?”
Marcy looked concerned and hurt. “Is something wrong?”
“No! Just because I want to give away my food doesn’t mean that you have to.” Andie tried to stop the waitress from taking their plates, but Whit took her hand.
“Want to go for a walk?” he asked, as Marcy whisked away their plates.
Mr. Neilson leaned back in his chair and gave Andie a benevolent smile. “Oh, Carol, I’m afraid we’re boring the young ‘uns with our hippie talk.”
“No, not at all, Mr. Neilson,” Andie said. “I would love to go to that part of the world.”
Whit lifted an eyebrow. “Really?”
Andie nodded. “I wish I could travel. The furthest I’ve ever been is Mexico.”
“Well, maybe if a certain little lady can sell my building, she can afford to take her daughter on a nice trip. Although, I wouldn’t suggest visiting the Viet Cong.”
“Depending on how you define traveling—a walk on the beach is traveling,” Whit said.
“It’s also a basketball foul.” Mr. Neilson shook his fork at Andie. “Don’t let this guy railroad you. He’s a sly one.”
“Come on, Andie.” Whit stood and placed his napkin on the table. “Let’s find someone who will enjoy our food.”
Mr. Neilson stood when Andie did, but her mother didn’t seem to react at all, other than a brief wave. Andie felt hurt, dismissed, and a little relieved when they left the dining room. She waited for Whit as he talked privately to Marcy.
“Thanks.” He pocketed his wallet and took the food containers from Marcy. “I knew if I waited for the bill to come to the table, Carver would try and pay.”
Andie didn’t try to understand Whit’s reasoning—who should pay what and why—but followed him out of the tiny restaurant.
“Is your heart set on the beach, or are you okay with the sidewalk?” Andie asked him. “It’s First Thursday, you know.”
“First Thursday?”
“You know, the first Thursday of every month where the art galleries serve wine and cheese?” The sun was fading into a pink blur, sending rays of light over the water. It looked way too romantic for Andie, and she had just had her fill of romance watching Mr. Neilson chat up her mom.
“Are you hungry?” Whit stood on the sidewalk, looking at the beach.
“No,” she lied, “but the galleries are still fun.”
“Huh.”
She took his arm and led him up to the busy Pacific Coast highway. “What does that mean?”
“It means that you and I might have a different definition of fun.” He matched his long strides to her much shorter ones and turned toward the art galleries lining Laguna’s noisiest and most crowded street. “But we should definitely get rid of the food before we go into the galleries. Who do you want to give it to?”
“I don’t know.” Andie glanced at all the people on the beach: mothers and children, teens with boogie boards, girls in bikinis and men in beards. “It’s hard. Someone once gave my friend money because they thought she was homeless, when really she was just experimenting with dreadlocks. Another time I gave a guy a granola bar and he yelled at me because he wanted money.”
Whit smiled. “I know. Once I gave a homeless guy a bag of peanuts, and he was mad because he didn’t have any teeth.”
“So, we need someone with teeth.”
Whit pointed to a violinist on the corner. The weather-beaten man’s haunting melody filled the air. At his feet lay a brown and white dog and an open instrument case with a handful of coins.
“He’s good,” Andie said.
“It’s sad. His talent should get him more than surf and turf.”
“Here.” Andie pulled out her bag and added a ten dollar bill to the doggie-bag.
The tune didn’t falter or waver as Whit placed the food beside the case. The dog lifted his head to inspect the containers, but did little more than poke the bag with his snout.
“Is this how you define fun?” Whit asked as they turned away.
“Fun probably isn’t the right word.”
“What is?”
She laughed, thinking about the dog tearing into the halibut and filet mignon. “I don’t know. Messy?”
“I know what’s not fun. It’s definitely not fun watching Carver Neilson flirt with a friend’s mom. I’m sorry.” He paused and raked his fingers through his hair. “No, I’m not. Tonight went exactly as Carver and I had hoped and expected. But I guess I didn’t think about your feelings. It must have been painful for you. I should have thought of that.”
“It’s okay,” she said, touched by his sensitivity. “My dad died years and years ago. My mom has had a long, dry spell as far as romance goes.” She paused, considering. “Is Mr. Neilson a player? Is my mom going to get hurt?”
“She’s going to get a huge commission.” He looked at her. “She wants that, right?”
Andie nodded. “And she’s a big girl. She can take care of herself.” Although, even to herself she didn’t sound too sure. As far as Andie knew, her mom hadn’t ever had a boyfriend. Maybe it was time, although it was possible Carver Neilson wasn’t the boyfriend type.
“Why am I here?” Andie blurted out. “Who is Carver Neilson to you and why did I have to come?”
Whit looked hurt. “You didn’t want to come?”
Andie’s mouth dropped open as she tried to think of a response. “I don’t get you. I’m not reading you. I get that you thought I was...you know, an amusingly crazy person in the elevator, but today at lunch, you were acting like I was your girlfriend, and I’m not.”
“If you didn’t want to come, why are you here? Was it just for the big, fat mom commission?”
“My mom is not big, or fat.”
“Don’t twist my words.”
Andie sniffed. “I came to apologize for breaking your glasses.”
“Didn’t you already do that?” He looked puzzled.
“I need to pay for your glasses. I need to know how much they cost.”
“Ah. I assume that your photography makes about the same as my sports writing.”
Andie clenched her jaw. “How much is that?”
He laughed softly. “Not much. But the difference is my sports writing isn’t my only gig, and I assume that your photography is your bread and butter.”
“It’s mostly just bread...the white, fluffy kind you find at the dollar store. I can’t afford butter.”
Whit’s lips twitched. “That’s what I thought.”
“So what?” Andie heard the defensive lilt in her voice, and she struggled to temper it. “I still have to replace your glasses.”
“Well, if you insist, I’ve got a proposition for you.”
“I might be poor, but I don’t do propositions.” She made her voice flippant.
He bit back a laugh. “Just listen. My brother is getting married. You would think that fact alone would ease all my mom’s maternal yearnings, but really...” He took a deep breath and looked out over the water. “She’s worse. She’s hell-bent on my settling down and picking up my dad’s financial reins.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“Don’t you see? You are exactly my mom’s type.”
Andie’s thoughts went to the nearly perfect Sofia. She didn’t see the connection. “What type is that?”
“The type that breaks strange men’s glasses when they get trapped in an elevator. The type that has a blog filled with photos of homeless shelters, soup kitchens and the Orangewood orphanage. The type that provides free photos and fliers for animal shelters.” He poked his finger at her chest. “You are my mother’s dream-daughter.”
“I don’t think so.” But Andie smiled, flattered, and looked down at her best shoes. The soft leather still shone, despite the scuffs. She had bought them at the consignment store for a fraction of the retail cost. She knew she was nothing like the immaculate Sofia, but she liked that Whit thought so.
“Seriously?” Whit sounded stung. “You can’t just hang with me during all the wedding festivities? Am I that horrific?”
“Horrific? You are not horrific, at least not in the Frankenstein or Dracula sort of way.” She paused, remembering how she had thought Grayson was a zombie.
“Thank you?” He bit his lip, looked at his shoes and seemed genuinely hurt.
Andie tried to explain her feelings. “It’s just that it wouldn’t be honest.”
“Andie?”
Jeremy Zimmerman. She recognized his voice immediately. It carried her back to college. Suddenly, she was twenty-one and in love for the first time all over again. Andie pasted on a tight smile and slowly turned.
He looked good. Ryan Gosling good. And the tall, beautiful redhead beside him looked even better. But the star of the night was the tiny baby in the stroller, waving her fist at Andie.
“Wow. It’s so good to see you.” Jeremy pulled her into a hug. She inhaled his familiar scent and her heart tore a little bit more.
“Huh, you, too.” She stepped away from him and moved closer to Whit who stood just behind her. “I mean, I knew you wouldn’t miss Kayla’s wedding.”
“We decided to make a trip out of it.” Jeremy reached for his wife’s hand. “You remember Colleen.”
“Of course.” Andie flicked her gaze over the beautiful redhead, but settled her attention on the baby in the stroller. “But I haven’t met your baby. She’s beautiful.” Andie blinked back a sudden tear and hoped no one noticed.
“What are you doing now?” Colleen asked.
Andie straightened and forced herself to look Colleen in the eye. All the painful memories rushed over Andie as she remembered the long-ago night when she first saw Colleen wrapped in Jeremy’s arms. “I’m a photographer.”
“That’s got to be tough.” Colleen made a sympathetic face. “It seems like everyone who buys a camera is building a website and calling themselves a photographer these days.”
“What happened to UCI and the journalism program?” Jeremy asked.
Before she could answer, Whit stuck out his hand. “I’m Whit Dodd.”
Jeremy looked small compared to Whit. Pin neck. That’s how Grammy Dean described Jeremy.
“Whit Dodd?” Jeremy’s eyes lit up. “You must be Grayson’s twin brother, the sports writer. Man, I love reading your stuff.”
Colleen brightened. “I bet you finished journalism school.”
Whit stiffened. “Actually, I have a business degree from Wharton.”
“Wow.” Colleen breathed. “Did you ever steer off-course.”
Whit stretched his lips in what could be described as either a smile or teeth baring. “You obviously have been talking to my mom.”
“What’s your next adventure?” Jeremy asked.
“My brother’s wedding.”
“Oh no,” Jeremy wailed.
“Don’t tell me you’re going domestic!” Colleen’s laugh trilled, and Andie hated her all over again.
“Not exactly.” Whit wrapped his arm around Andie’s shoulders and pulled her close to his side.
Colleen looked at Andie up and down. “Are you sure?”
“I’m just steering a little off-course.” He dropped a kiss on top of Andie’s head. “But she’s worth it.”
“Guys like Jeremy need guys like you,” Colleen said. “They need your vicarious adventures.”
An uncomfortable lull in the conversation fell, and the sound of traffic filled the air. On the opposite corner, the violinist continued his song, and it filled Andie with bittersweet memories.
“Andie is all the adventure I want or need,” Whit said in a voice as smooth warm chocolate.
Colleen stiffened. “It was nice to see you again, Andrea.” She steered the stroller in the opposite direction.
“You, too,” Andie lied to Colleen’s back and the retreating stroller.
Jeremy pulled her into another brief hug before turning away with a wave over his shoulder.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Whit asked.
“What?” Seeing Jeremy?
“Pretending to be with me.”
Andie rolled her eyes. “I am with you. I didn’t have to pretend.”
Whit looked triumphant.
She laughed and pushed him away. “Thank you for that, but no more kissing.”
“Seriously? Kissing is the best part.”
So true. He stood too close, and now that Jeremy had disappeared, she took a step back. “I mean it. If you want to kiss me, you have to ask first.”
He smirked what may have been an agreement, and she walked to the beach, navigating around the tourists and kids toting boogie boards. She didn’t want to visit the galleries and risk bumping into Jeremy and his family again. She slipped off her shoes and sank her toes in the warm sand.
“How about if I get to kiss you without asking, and you do me a favor?”
She couldn’t help it, she laughed. “That sounds like a win-win—for you!”
He bumped her with his shoulder. “I know, right? I love it when that happens.”
“There’s nothing in that scenario for me.”
He wiggled his eyebrows. “My kisses, remember?”
She shook her head. A part of her wanted to hold onto the Jeremy pain and the bittersweet memories. Another part of her wanted Whit to make her laugh. And maybe kiss her. Just a little kiss would taste so good. But, still. “I’m not playing this game with you.”
“Oh, I think you’ll like it, just listen.”
In the distance, boats and surfers bobbed in the water, and the early evening sun spread rays of pink and orange toward them.
“I just thought of the perfect wedding gift for my brother. Pictures.”
“I’m sure they already have a photographer.”
“I know, but those pictures are always so staged. I want you to get the humorous, behind the scenes when they think no one is looking shots. You know—catch the emotions.”
Andie watched the tide lick the shore. It washed in, receded, and repeated, gaining ground on each return, sucking sand with it as it pulled away. That’s how Andie felt—like she was being pulled in and under. She knew she should stay away from Whit, but she felt herself being tugged into him.
“I get to kiss you, and I pay you to make a photo album.” He rocked onto the balls of his feet. “And you don’t have to pay for my glasses.”
“That sounds...” Andie faltered.
“Like a great idea, right?”
“I was going to say a lot like prostitution.”
“All artists are pimps—even Michelangelo painted on consignment.”
“He didn’t kiss on assignment,” Andie grumbled.
“We’ll only kiss in public—just to make things look real.”
“How much did the glasses cost?”
“A thousand dollars.”
“A thousand dollars,” she muttered under her breath, stunned. Exactly one fifth of what she needed. She looked at Whit’s gray eyes, his chiseled chin and honey colored hair.
He was exactly everything she didn’t need.
#
“SO FUN!” CAROL GUSHED. “This is like a double date!” Carol pulled the ancient Honda into the Founder’s Building parking lot and cut the engine.
“How is this so different from last night?” Andie asked.
“Completely different!” Carol reached into her bag and pulled out a tube of cherry-red lipstick. “Last night was a business meeting. I didn’t know that Carver Neilson owned the Founder’s Building, and I didn’t know that Whit Dodd has a thing for my daughter.”
“Oh Mother, he doesn’t have a thing.”
Carol applied her lipstick, clicked the tube closed and gave Andie a hard stare. “Oh, I think he does!”
Andie flushed. Since she didn’t want to try to understand her mother’s meaning, she climbed from the car. Carol followed.
“Carver Neilson,” she murmured. “He was such a scrawny nerd. Who would have thought he would grow up to build the Founder’s Building?”
Andie tightened her grip on her camera case. It rankled that her mom seemed to be attracted to Carver Neilson for no other reason other than he owned the largest piece of commercial real estate in Irvine.
Her mom gave her a critical stare. “I wish you had worn something dressier.”
Andie sucked in a deep breath and straightened her black linen skirt. “This is my best outfit.”
“You call it your work uniform.”
“Just the skirt. The top is raw silk.” She had found it last year in a consignment shop and hadn’t had a reason to wear it until now. She loved the way it felt against her skin and shimmered in the fading light.
“It’s beige.”
Andie lifted her shoulder. “I’m a beige sort of girl. Besides, it perfectly matches Grammy’s pearls.” She held the navel-length strand and rubbed her thumb over the smooth orbs. They felt cool to the touch. Somehow they steadied her and reminded her of who she really was. Which was good. Because when she saw Whit standing by the wide glass doors, his gray eyes searching, widening when his gaze met hers, and his face lighting with a smile touched with relief, she forgot almost everything else.
WHIT
Just a business arrangement, Whit reminded himself when he spotted Andie. She looked almost identical to the first time he saw her, except for the pearls that matched the creamy color of her skin and made her hair look like the night sky. He wondered what she would look like with gray streaked through her dark tresses. His imagination carried him into the future before he could rein it in.
Various stages of Andie flashed through his mind: Andie cradling a rosy-cheeked baby, Andie holding the hand of a timid and frightened first-time kindergartener, Andie weeping at her child’s wedding.
He gripped the roses tighter, and a thorn pierced his palm. Knowing that a pain much worse than that would come his way if he wasn’t careful, he headed toward Andie—like a fish caught on a line—reminding himself that as soon as the wedding was over, he was gone.
He liked the way she flushed when their eyes met. The flush said much more than he ever expected her to admit. Handing her the roses, he said, “I don’t know what I was thinking. You can’t dance, take pictures and hold flowers.”
“These are gorgeous.” She held the roses to her nose and smiled at him over the bouquet. “There’s probably a vase in here somewhere, right?”
The red perfectly matched the color of her lips. He would kiss her tonight. In public. It was part of the bargain.
He cleared his throat and hoped she couldn’t read his thoughts. “Right. Every office building should come with a flower vase.”
She bumped him with her hip. “It’s an extensive corporate campus with one point seven million square feet of office space and a distinctive ten-story mirrored-glass tower.”
He raised his eyebrows to show he was impressed. “You have been doing your homework.”
“I’m a professional.” She shrugged and tried to look modest. “Have you been practicing your moves?”
“No, but that’s why I’m here, right? To practice the dance moves.” Placing his hand on the small of her back, he led her through the marble foyer to the wide open doors leading to the campus’s largest conference room. A disco ball hung from the ceiling and the air thrummed with Michael Buble’s velvety tones. Andie gasped when she saw the crowd gathered beneath the sparkling lights.
“I thought this was just going to be the wedding party.”
“Kayla said this would be more fun.” Whit nodded to the center of the room. “See that fussy guy? He’s the dance instructor.”
Andie’s gaze flitted over the crowd. “Where’s your partner?”
“You’re my partner, remember?”
“No.” She shook her head, and the lights glistened in her dark hair. “As the best man, aren’t you supposed to dance with the maid of honor?”
“Oh that.” He let out a sigh and pointed at a tall, willowy, fierce-looking blonde who stood by the refreshment table.
Andie leaned close and whispered, “It really hurt Aunt Maggie’s feelings that Kayla didn’t invite cousin Lou-Lou to be the maid of honor.”
Whit’s lips twitched. “Which one is Lou-Lou?”
“See—she’s over there next to Grammy Dean.”
Whit followed Andie’s gaze to a plump girl dressed in a pink dress that resembled a lamp-shade. He had forgotten that Andie’s family would be here. His lips tightened, and his blood picked up speed when he saw old man Neilson chatting up Andie’s mom.
Andie must have also caught sight of the budding romance because a worried frown crinkled her forehead.
“Hey, before my brother and future sister-in-law make me perform my best-man dancing duties, let’s find a vase for your flowers.” He took her elbow and steered her out the door and down a long, dark corridor. Andie cast a backward glance at her mother as they left.
The music and sparkly lights faded. Andie tripped in her high heels and bumped against him, sending a small, soft warning through him. Another image of Andie shook Whit: they were sailing and Andie laughed as a sun-kissed wave washed over the bow of a sailboat, soaking her.
He had to stop this. He couldn’t keep thinking of her this way, as if she belonged in every area of his life, instead of just this weekend. He replaced the sailing image with another more graphic visualization—Andie vomiting over the side of a fishing boat.
“Do you get sea-sick?”
She sent him a surprised look. “No. At least, I never have.”
“Car sick, then?”
“Huh, no.”
And just like that, in Whit’s imagination, Andie was back on the sailboat, laughing at the crashing waves. She tugged on his arm and returned him to the Founder’s Building. He followed her pointing finger to a refrigerator in a break room where they found an almost empty carton of eggnog.
Andie wrinkled her nose. “Do you think that’s been there since Christmas?”
Whit laughed and sniffed at the contents. “Well, since they don’t sell eggnog for Easter...”
He poured the thick, sludgy nog into the sink and rinsed out the carton. Admiring the roses in the makeshift vase, he said, “Perfect.” And had a drowning feeling that the superlative could also be applied to Andie.
“There you are!” Vanessa’s voice rang down the hall. “It’s your turn to dance, Half ‘n’ half.”
“Half ‘n’ half?” Andie asked.
Whit grimaced. “Old family nick-name.”
Andie giggled. “What sort of name is Whit, anyway?”
Vanessa’s high heels clicked into the room. Placing her hands on her hips, she glowered at Whit. “Your future sister-in-law is fuming.”
Whit looked grim and tried to ignore Vanessa. “I’m one half and my twin is the other.”
Vanessa shook her head. “I don’t think that is what they meant, Half-wit.”
“It’s my grandfather’s sort of name.” Whit handed Andie the carton of flowers and his fingers brushed hers. “It’s short for Weatherford.”
“Whit has nothing to do with his witty personality,” Vanessa said.
As soon as this weekend is over, I’m gone, Whit reminded himself, but after another glance at Andie, he couldn’t help wondering who he was lying to.