Читать книгу Wooing The Wedding Planner - Amber Leigh Williams - Страница 12

CHAPTER THREE

“YOU’RE ALL GOING to hell,” Roxie proclaimed. It was Wednesday morning, a brisk forty degrees. Not even the hearty bay pelicans had ventured out for their morning repast. And here she was chugging up the hill from the Fairhope Pier to the towering bluff that overlooked the Eastern Shore in all its splendor.

Adrian Bracken fell into step beside her, moving marginally faster, dressed in a gray hoodie and black yoga pants. A sun-battered baseball cap crowned her red bob. “This was Liv’s idea. Not mine.”

“Oh,” Roxie said, her voice dropping a level. Her breath was whistling at the back of her throat and her calves were screaming. “There’s a special place in hell for you, Liv.”

The roar of a gas-powered motor crept up behind them. Roxie and Adrian glanced over in unison to the woman behind the wheel of a John Deere Gator. She had one UGG-clad foot propped up beside the steering wheel and a gloved claw wrapped around a chocolate éclair fresh from Briar’s kitchen. “You know,” Olivia Leighton said as she chowed down on the pastry. “If the two of you would stop squawking like seagulls, in all likelihood we’d be back home eating Briar’s quiche by now...” She shrugged and stuffed the rest of the éclair into her mouth. “As it is...”

“Are you even allowed to operate an ATV on the open road?” Adrian wanted to know.

Olivia looked around, nonplussed. “Nobody’s stopped me.” She reached inside the box on the passenger seat for another pastry. “Come on, pick up the pace. I brought Gerald’s Indiana Jones whip and I’m not afraid to use it.”

Roxie groaned, falling behind Adrian a few more paces as the stitch in her side flared up and choked the wind out of her. “I’m sorry your doctor says you can’t run yet because you just squeezed two babies out of you. But we don’t deserve this.”

“Huh,” Olivia said with a smirk. “Bitter and out of shape. I’d feel a mite more friendly if I’d spent the night with a certain supersexy Greek man-cake.”

Roxie stopped, planting her hands on her knees. Not for the first time since waking up to him in her apartment Tuesday morning, she felt the urge to wring Byron’s foolish neck.

She’d insisted he sleep on a pallet in her living room, since they’d finished close to two bottles between them. The next morning he called down to the inn for coffee, meaning both Briar and her husband, Cole, knew that he was at her place early enough to be suspect. They’d informed Adrian and her husband, James. Who then told Olivia, who, of course, blabbed the news to everybody from here to the Flora-Bama. Roxie had half expected the stranger standing next to her at the grocery checkout yesterday to give her a sly thumbs-up. She’d tolerated as much from all three of her wedded friends.

When Roxie finally caught her breath, she lowered to the sidewalk, leaning back on her hands to ease the stitch in her ribs.

“Hey,” Olivia said, the ATV coming to a halt as Adrian ran ahead to catch up with Briar. “Ass, elbows off the concrete. You’re falling behind last week’s time, which I’m sorry to say was shameful enough.”

“Shush,” Roxie said, too tired to raise her voice. She closed her eyes. Breathe. Breathe. “I’m trying not to envision man-cakes or any other type of Greek pastry.”

“Why not?” Olivia asked, studying the éclair in her hand with a smug grin. “You still stuffed from Monday night?”

Roxie shook her head and fought hard not to laugh. At this point, it would hurt. Really hurt. “Nothing happened. In fact, I wish I could go back and make that whole twenty-four-hour period disappear forever.”

Footsteps beat toward them. Roxie looked up to find Adrian returning, her high cheekbones pink from the February nip. “I can’t catch Briar. She’s like the female version of the Flash.”

“My star pupil,” Olivia said fondly, gaze combing the cliff above. Catching sight of the blonde along the sidewalk, she lifted the bullhorn from her lap. Her lurid voice boomed over the park, making Roxie grimace and Adrian plug her ears. “That’s it, cuz! Boot and rally!”

“Wonderful,” Roxie said, reaching for the side of her head. “I am now bitter, out of shape and one-hundred-percent deaf.”

Olivia set the bullhorn down and reached back for the lid of the cooler in the Gator’s cargo bed. She lobbed a bottle of water at Adrian’s head. “Stretch and hydrate.”

Adrian lifted her hands to block the bottle from hitting her square in the face. She bobbled it several times before catching it one-handed.

Roxie lazily watched the bottle meant for her sail clean over her head and bounce onto the grass beyond. “Thank you, Derek Jeter,” she drawled. She retrieved the Dasani, cracked it open and frowned at the clear contents. “I’m thinking about getting back together with him.”

Adrian stopped in the midst of a lunging stretch. “Richard?”

“No. Jose Conseco,” Roxie said condescendingly. “Who else?”

“Go back,” Adrian said, milling a hand. “What happened to Byron? Wait, go further back. What happened with Bertie?”

“Oh, right,” Olivia said, leaning over the passenger seat in interest. “I forgot all about that yahoo.”

Roxie scrubbed her hands back through her hair. “Julianna was wrong about him—to say the least. Luckily, as Bertie was dropping me off at the tavern on Monday night, Byron happened to be outside. He intervened when Bertie revealed his true colors. Very Perseus-type stuff.”

“Byron?” Olivia cracked a laugh.

Adrian wrinkled her nose. “So you were the Andromeda?”

“Sort of,” Roxie considered. “I was clothed but, still, humiliated. She was chained to a rock, though, so she wins.”

“Ah, bondage,” Olivia said reminiscently. “Didn’t Andromeda get the man?”

“Yeah, but the damsel-in-distress thing,” Adrian said. “Who wants it?”

A sly grin colored Olivia’s face. “Clearly, you’ve never done role-play.”

“Was Gerald the damsel?” Adrian asked, droll.

Roxie waved her hands. “No, no. No more unwanted pictures. Anyway, after the Perseus thing went down, I was a little shaken, so Byron walked me upstairs and kept me company for a while.”

“Kept you company,” Adrian said, picking through the words carefully.

Olivia coughed into her hand. “Man-cakes.”

“There was wine,” Roxie said, ignoring Olivia’s pastry reference. “We both imbibed a little too much but not enough to lose our sensibilities.” She refrained from mentioning his kiss. She was still trying to riddle through the consequences. Of Byron’s mouth. On hers. “He wound up staying overnight, on the floor. Like a gentleman.”

“Good,” Adrian said. “Byron’s a family friend, but I could still kick his ass. Or we could get Liv to sit on him. Either way.”

Olivia cocked her head at Adrian. “He can get in line.”

“What does any of this have to do with Richard, though?” Adrian asked.

“Before we went to bed—separately—I talked to him about maybe reconciling with Richard,” Roxie explained. She tiptoed over any mention of Byron’s marriage and his wife’s death—it was clearly a part of his life he wanted to keep private. Respecting that was easy. If she could’ve found some way to keep the breakup of her own marriage less public, she’d have done it in a heartbeat.

“What did he have to say about it?” Adrian prompted.

“He cautioned me against it at first,” Roxie said. “But in the end he suggested I speak to Richard about it in person.”

“Will you?”

“Yes.” Roxie nodded. “As soon as he gets back from...wherever it is he’s been for the last few months.”

“Why?” Olivia asked. She threw up her hands. “I’m sorry, but I’m not on board. The ink on the marriage license was hardly dry before he slept with someone else. Before he slept with your sister. That takes scumbaggery to a whole new level.”

It had been the deepest betrayal Roxie could have ever imagined. She’d cried. For months, she’d cried alone in the apartment above the tavern. She’d taken little with her but the purple settee from their French Colonial after toying with the idea of setting fire to the whole thing. Dousing gasoline over the Aubusson rug where she’d found Richard and Cassandra coupling had been so tempting.

There was no way she could go back to that house. If they were going to start over...if they both wanted to start over and fight for all that they had built over the last decade, they would need a clean slate.

“Listen,” Roxie said carefully, “I know you both think it’s foolish.” Adrian had said nothing but her reticence was answer enough. “And maybe it is. But I read this study recently about couples who decide to stay together and work for their relationship after a spouse strays once. Just once. The majority managed to make it stick.”

“Once a cheat, always a cheat,” Olivia opined.

Adrian sighed. “I’m sorry, but I agree with Liv for once. I always thought it was common sense that once someone cheated, they were likely to do it again.”

“Richard was never a cheater, though,” Roxie said.

“People change,” Olivia told her. “I’m usually the one who would tell you to go for it, but, Roxie, we were all here last March. We saw how devastated you were.”

“We just don’t want that to happen to you again,” Adrian added.

“If it does, we’ll have to kill him,” Olivia said. “Gerald hid my firearms after we found out about the babies, but I’ve still got my bat, and I think Richard could do without his kneecaps under the circumstances.”

Roxie let out a laugh. “God, you’re wonderful. You’re all so wonderful. I love the concern and initiative. But you know what they say about regret. I can’t go the rest of my life not knowing if I let go of the person I’m supposed to be with.”

“Can I ask you?” Adrian said, narrowing her eyes. “Do you love him?”

“Byron asked me the same thing. And the answer is yes—on some level, I do. I can’t be sure if it’s enough to sustain us, or if he feels enough for me to want to start over.”

“It’s your call,” Adrian determined. “Do what you have to do. Whichever way it goes, at least you’ll finally have closure.”

Roxie nodded. Closure. That was what she’d been missing for the last year. It was no good hanging in emotional limbo. No matter how often she’d told herself to move on, the hollowness inside had kept her tethered in the murky in-between.

Olivia frowned. “Well, damn. I had a whole list of ill-advised rebound candidates to throw at you.”

Roxie arched a brow. “You weren’t upset when you thought I’d rebounded with Byron. That was you playing Marvin Gaye on the jukebox after tavern hours all night last night. I know it was.”

The Cheshire cat grin sat well on Olivia’s face. “I do feel a bit bad now about telling everybody you two did the hot dog dance.”

“Thanks for that,” Roxie replied.

A Jeep pulled up next to the ATV. The driver’s window rolled down and James Bracken leaned out in dark sunglasses and a devastating grin. “Howdy.”

“What are you doing here?” Olivia asked as Adrian softened. Every bit of her softened as she shaded her face with her hand against the brightening sun.

James jerked a shoulder. “I offered to head out and inform you that we menfolk have successfully thrown together a breakfast fit for a queen. Or four, in this case.”

Adrian’s smile turned knowing. She gave a laugh. “You bailed.”

“Bailed?” James’s grin faltered somewhat. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yeah, right!” Olivia said, catching on. She picked up another éclair. “You totally bailed on Cole and Gerald.”

James pursed his lips. He took off his ball cap and combed his fingers back through his thick brown hair. His colorful sleeve of tattoos flashed vividly. “They’ve got it handled. Cole managed to fry up eggs and sausage and sweet-talk Harmony into staying at the table. She smeared bananas all over the place, but she ate and not one of us said a word about the mess.” He pulled off his sunglasses and began to clean them with the edge of his shirt. “Then there’s Gerald.” He sent Olivia an impressive look. “It’s only three weeks in, but the man’s earned all the daddy badges there are to earn. Burping, changing, rocking. It’s like watching the Daddy Olympic games.”

“And Kyle?” Adrian asked, referring to her and James’s eight-year-old son.

“I helped him and Gavin haul the crab traps out of the water,” James told her, replacing his sunglasses and hooking a meaty arm through the open window. “Then I offered to let them tag along. But they wanted to stay behind and get to know their catch before we release them back into the wild. I expect all the crabs’ll be named after Marvel villains before we get back.”

“We?” Olivia asked. “Think again, mister. Your woman here doesn’t need rescuing.”

James tilted his head at his wife. The corner of his mouth moved. It was a nonverbal come-hither that nearly made Roxie’s weary feet move in double-time. “I could persuade her. It’s not rescuing if there’s persuasion involved. Ain’t that right, lil’ mama?”

Adrian looked as if she were fighting laughter. Warmth flooded her features. She walked to the open window and angled her face up to his. “Any other day, you wouldn’t have had to stop. You could’ve just slowed down, and Roxie and I would’ve jumped into the backseat and you’d be peeling out of here.”

“Cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater,” Olivia rhymed, polishing off the remnants of the éclair.

Though his chin came to rest on his folded arms, James eyed Olivia over the crown of Adrian’s head. “Isn’t it ‘Peter, Peter?’”

“You need to take your peter home,” Olivia informed him, crude. She brushed her hands together to remove the icing. “Save it for your redhead later.”

“Hey,” James said, feigning offense on behalf of his redhead and his privates.

The redhead in question grabbed him by the bill of his cap. “She’s right. Get your fine ass back to the inn and stay there. A little baby time won’t kill you.”

James’s jaw moved though he didn’t look entirely dissatisfied. “The pink one puked on me.”

“They’re both pink.” Adrian grinned.

“Okay, the loud one puked on me.”

Roxie began to cross to the Jeep. “What’s wrong, James? You don’t like babies?”

“He loves babies,” Adrian said, patting his arm. “He’s just never been around them. Go. If you change one of them, I’ll give you a cookie.” Her brows quirked. “A very...hot...cookie.”

His brows rose over the rim of his glasses and he reached over to put the Jeep in gear. “I heard that.”

She leaned up to plant a kiss on him. Roxie found herself sighing a little as the man kissed his wife with all the abandon of a person still completely and hopelessly lost over another. Apparently the romantic in her hadn’t been completely ripped up from the roots. Perhaps she did still believe in love. Being surrounded by committed couples that had managed to find happiness despite daunting odds—Briar and Cole, Olivia and Gerald, Adrian and James—certainly helped.

She wasn’t a quitter. She never had been. And she’d never not been a romantic. It was natural, even inevitable, that she’d reached the point of questioning whether she needed to explore an alternate ending for the marriage she’d desperately wanted in the first place—the marriage she’d idealized.

Olivia’s voice pealed over the newlyweds’ exchange. “Hey!” she said to Roxie. “Where’re you going?”

Roxie dodged around the Jeep’s grille. She wasn’t a quitter. Nope. She wasn’t a sprinter either. “Somebody’s gotta ride shotgun.” Lowering her voice through the passenger window, she added to James, “I change the diaper, you get the credit. Just get me out of here.”

“I heard that,” Adrian pointed out.

James reached over the passenger seat to pop the lock. “Hop in, sugar.”

Roxie felt her phone vibrating on her hip. Holding up a finger for James, she pulled it from the waistband of her leggings. The caller ID was listed as unknown. She answered it anyway. “Hello?”

“Is this Roxie Honeycutt?”

“Speaking,” Roxie replied.

“Hi! This is Vera Strong. I believe you know my son, Byron.”

Oh, what fresh hell is this? The blood drained from Roxie’s face. “I did not sleep with him!” she blurted then clamped her hand over her mouth.

There was a slight pause then a friendly chuckle. “I’m happy to hear it, dear. I’m calling because he’s under the impression that you’re looking for a new place to live.”

For a moment, Roxie was confounded. Then she remembered the brief exchange she’d had with Byron before he left her apartment yesterday morning. He’d admired the view from the windows. She’d admitted that she was looking for a change of scenery. He’d had a hard time imagining better scenery than what she had already. Roxie had told him about her new mantra—New Year, New Roxie. Which all started with finding a new place to live. Something that might begin to erase the hollow feeling that had moved into the apartment with her and refused to depart despite repeated attempts at eviction.

What was wrong with the old Roxie? he’d asked.

That had stuck with her. And the kiss.

It was difficult to forget a kiss, especially a kiss from someone...well, someone like Byron. She’d spent more time than she’d like to admit trying not to think about how sweet it was—she’d forgotten kisses could be so sweet. And she’d tried especially to forget how his lips had lingered. And how in lingering he’d awakened starbursts. Small starbursts of eternity.

Roxie frowned deeply. Being touched... It had been so long since she had really been touched. The emptiness in her had turned into a resounding ache at his contact, and for a few moments, she’d considered bringing Byron’s mouth back down to hers. For a few moments, she’d craved more than his companionship. She’d craved the contact. The promise of heat that came with it.

But had she wanted it for the single reason that his heat could erode her loneliness? There was trust there. There was affection. For those small starbursts of eternity, there had been longing and the promise of flame. It had been so long since she’d felt the sheer electrical pulse of new chemistry.

But why did it seem like so long since she’d felt the flame? The passion?

Had she wanted Byron for the promise of passion? Had she wanted him because she was lonely—because she missed someone else?

She dispelled the riot of confusion left over from that night. Byron wasn’t the guy. He wasn’t her guy. He’d admitted that there was only one great love in life. His words and the experience behind them had even gone so far as to convince her to give Richard another chance.

Of course, that was before the kiss. But that was beside the point.

“Hello?” Vera said.

“Yes,” Roxie said, giving herself a quick, discerning shake. “Sorry. Yes, I am in the market for a new place.”

“That’s great,” Vera said. “My husband, Constantine, and I are in the real estate business. We own a dozen or so homes in Baldwin County. Several of them are in the Fairhope and Point Clear area. Most are lease houses with a twelve-month contract. If you’re interested, we could arrange a few showings. I understand you’re a busy woman. We would be happy to meet you at your convenience.”

Her heart began to beat a bit faster at the possibilities. New Year. New Roxie. This was exactly what she needed to get her life back on track. “I’m interested,” Roxie told Vera. “Are you free late this afternoon?”

“Sure. Does five thirty work for you?”

“It does,” Roxie said. She’d have to rush from the Hamilton wedding. It didn’t start until three thirty, but she had her assistant, Yuri, to fall back on. And Adrian would be there to help. “Text me an address and I’ll meet you.”

“Fabulous,” Vera cheered. “I’m looking forward to meeting the woman who didn’t sleep with my son.”

Roxie ended the call on a nervous chuckle. She stared at the screen for a moment, wondering if she should give Byron a call. As a thank-you.

No, Roxie. Nix the Perseus and Andromeda.

“Come on, Rox,” James said. “Let’s get goin’.” As she hopped in, he flipped Olivia and Adrian a salute, shouted “Race you!” and with a mash of the accelerator, they were off.

* * *

“THE ONE ON Nichols wasn’t so bad.”

“None of the Strongs’ houses have been bad so far,” Roxie pointed out as she steered her Lexus through light evening traffic. “What I’m looking for, though, is something a little more... I don’t know. Special.”

In the passenger seat, Briar Savitt nodded. “You’re waiting for something to jump out and take a bite out of you.”

Roxie’s lips twitched. “If Liv were here, it’d be Euphemism City. Though you’re right. I want something I can be excited about coming home to.”

At the sound of a squeal from the backseat, Briar turned and smiled at her daughter, Harmony, who was strapped into a car seat. “Almost there, baby girl.” She groped for a toy Harmony had dropped on the floor and stretched to hand it back to her. “What do you think of Vera?”

“She’s marvelous,” Roxie said and meant it. “I don’t know why I was worried.” She had asked Briar to tag along. Vera and her husband, Constantine, had invested in Briar’s bed-and-breakfast. The Strongs and Savitts were on first-name terms, and Roxie had hoped that having Briar around would help make the introduction to Byron’s mother less uncomfortable after her awkward outburst over the phone.

In the end, Roxie hadn’t had anything to worry about. Just as Briar had assured her, Vera was just as easy to get along with as Byron. Though hearing Byron’s name in conjunction with the word easy made images come to Roxie’s mind that would’ve made Olivia proud...

“Serendipity Lane?” Briar said as they passed the sign. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s nice,” Roxie acknowledged as they both took a look at the neighborhood. “Very nice.” The area was clean and heavily residential. The trees were aged behemoths. Roxie could tell the homes were older. Most had been treated to modern face-lifts.

Vera’s SUV pulled to the curb behind a mailbox with the numbers 77 painted on it. “This must be the last one,” Roxie said.

“Ooh,” Briar said as Roxie parked behind Vera. “Would you look at that?”

Roxie’s jaw dropped as she peered through the passenger window at the grand white Victorian. All the houses on the street were nice. But this one... It was like a celestial winter faerie palace, only more homey than extravagant. The front yard was large, rectangular. A picket fence framed annual springtime beds.

High on the second floor, there was a big round stained-glass window. The last light of day shined on it, making the wavy iridescent streaks of the orange sun hanging low over azure blue waves glow.

The breath rushed out of her. Her voice was scant when she finally found words. “Holy wow. It’s like utopia.” There was a wraparound porch with a large cushioned lay-back swing. She could imagine herself lounging there in the summer. She could hear the wind blowing through those ancient trees and the ice clinking against the sides of her tea glass.

The vision was so tangible, she had to blink to bring herself back to the wintry present. She barely remembered to grab her purse before joining Vera on the sidewalk, Briar right behind her with Harmony on her hip.

“What do you think?” Vera asked. The woman didn’t look old enough to be the mother of a thirtysomething-year-old man. Though one thing Byron and Vera did have in common was their striking good looks. With dark hair flowing down her back in waves, a tailored red dress cloaking her hourglass figure and towering Mary Jane heels, she looked more like one of the glossy coanchors of Entertainment Tonight than the low-key small-town real estate agent that she was. “I think we saved the best for last.”

“You aren’t kidding,” Roxie murmured. “I’ve always had a thing for Victorians.”

“Wait until you get a load of this one,” Vera advised as she rooted through her purse for the key. She led them up the sidewalk to the porch steps. “It’s a family house. Built in 1949 by Con’s uncle for his wife when he brought her over from Greece to live out the rest of their lives here.”

“How sweet,” Briar said, peering through the glass surrounding the front door as Vera bowed to unlock it. “I love houses with a story behind them.”

Vera swung the door open and turned back to them. “After you, dears.”

“Thank you.” Roxie stepped over the threshold. The flooring struck her first. It was spectacular. Walnut. There was crown molding. No doubt the interior had been updated within the last ten to fifteen years. The small cut-glass chandelier over the entry caught her eye. Drops of foggy sea glass dangled from the fringes. She had to stop herself from touching it.

“From the island of Santorini,” Vera explained, “where Athena and her sister, Con’s mother, immigrated from after the Second World War.”

Beyond the foyer, she caught sight of the staircase in the living room. It arched to the right, and curlicue ironwork made up the banister. “Oh, my word.” She lowered her voice in automatic reverence. “Vera, this is stunning!”

“It doesn’t even have that old house smell,” Vera boasted. “There’re three bedrooms, an office, two full baths and one half bath. There’s a full laundry service in the basement. The furnishings are optional. You can get rid of everything, keep everything, or pick and choose what you need until you get the desired result. Not to mention the detached garage. There is a tenant in the loft above...”

“That’s fine,” Roxie said automatically. She took a peek into the dining room on the right. More sea glass. And windows. Windows everywhere—thin, tall, lovingly trimmed in a fleur-de-lis motif. An archway led into the kitchen. “Would you look at this, Briar?” Roxie asked as she spun in a circle, taking it all in. “Better Homes and Gardens better watch its back.”

“Glass-front cabinets.” Briar sighed. “I’ve always wanted glass-front cabinets. And double ovens. And stone!” She ran her hand over the stonework surrounding what had likely once been a wood-burning hearth and stove. “I could die here.”

Vera laughed. “You haven’t seen the living room.”

Here the clack of Roxie’s heels echoed off high-arched ceilings. She’d thought old houses such as this were built tight with rooms closed off from one another under squatted ceilings. But this house breathed, the living room spilling up into the second-floor landing. More windows here, high and arched with transoms peering out onto a charming patio with a bricked fire pit. There was a fenced-in backyard that would be green and fragrant in spring and summer. Roxie stopped in front of the center window. Framed between the panes was one of those rare Japanese magnolias overflowing with plump pink blossoms.

Briar leaned toward Roxie’s shoulder and lowered her voice. “If you get this house, I’ll be insanely jealous, but at least I can visit. Or live in the kitchen. I’ll cook. Cole can do yard work. We could make it work.”

“It’s mine,” Roxie chanted. “All mine, I tell you.” She blinked, cleared her throat and shook her head. “Sorry. Don’t know where that came from. I haven’t seen the upstairs and I know. I just know, Briar. It’s like knowing you want to marry someone.”

Briar smiled at her. “You’re glowing. It’s good to see your glow again, Roxie.”

Roxie whirled around to Vera. “I’ll take it. Can we sign now? I want to sign now.”

Vera held up her hands. “Wait a second. You haven’t seen the bedrooms or the basement. There could be leaks. Rats the size of armadillos... And I’m your Realtor.”

“I’ll call the roofers,” Roxie claimed. “I’ll call the Schwarzenegger of exterminators. I have to have this house, Vera. You tell me what we need to do to get this done tonight and we’ll do it.”

Vera opened her mouth to speak, but the faint sound of Jimi Hendrix’s guitar wafted from her boho purse. She pulled out her cell phone and frowned at the caller ID screen. “So sorry. It’s my youngest. She’s flying in from Africa early tomorrow. Do you mind?”

“Of course not,” Roxie said.

“Seriously,” Vera cautioned, “take a walk upstairs. Leaks and rats excluding, I’ll have the papers for you in the dining room ready to sign as soon as you’re finished.”

As Vera answered the call, Roxie and Briar gleefully sprinted up the stairs to find out what other treasures the house had to offer. The stained glass was even more exquisite up close as the last wavering light of the afternoon cast rioting crystalline swaths from floor to ceiling.

Roxie found a room to set up her sewing. Wide with the high boughs of the Japanese magnolia aligned in the single picture window, it was a creative space if she’d ever seen one. There were built-in shelves where she could arrange fabrics and an alcove perfect for her sewing and embroidery equipment.

In the master suite, she gawked at the turtleback ceiling...and frowned over an overlarge television set up on an otherwise gorgeous antique dresser. The dresser could stay. The television...it stuck out like a sore thumb. The bed was built up on a platform to distinguish it from the sitting area. She’d trade the bed frame for the iron one she’d bought after the divorce. It would work well with the curlicue iron accents she’d seen throughout the house.

Briar, Harmony now snoozing on her shoulder, stepped out of the walk-in closet across the room. “There’s enough room in here for the Duchess of Devonshire’s trousseau. Wigs and all.”

“Don’t tease me,” Roxie advised, moving toward the closet door to peek inside, too.

“Have you checked out the bathroom?” Briar asked, pointing to the closed pocket doors. She reached for the slight parting between them. “If there’s a whirlpool tub, I might have to hate on you a little bit.”

“Fair enough,” Roxie said as she peered over Briar’s shoulder.

Briar slid the pocket doors back. They whispered along the tracks in the wall. Steam greeted them. Roxie squinted through it. Just as Briar tensed beside her and reached out to grip her arm, a long form took shape before her. “Um, who...”

The intruder stood at one of the matching sinks, a razor raised to his chin. As the doors clacked against the jamb, he jerked and grunted a pained cry. He turned partway toward them, his hand clasped to his chin. Briar’s gasp reverberated off the periwinkle tiles and Roxie exclaimed, “Byron!”

Shock and bemusement flashed across his face. He didn’t say a word, just stared at them.

She stared back. He wasn’t Byron. He was naked Byron. Or...almost-naked Byron. How could she not have known all this was under those suits and ties? His skin was the color of golden piecrust hot and fresh from the oven. There wasn’t an ounce of body fat on him. The bastard. Everything was ripply and muscly, sprinkled with a fine dusting of dark hair that looked so soft that Roxie had the dubious urge to run her fingertips through it. He would have been bare if not for the black briefs hugging his... Roxie’s cheeks heated quickly when words like cruller, bear claw, sweet roll rushed through her mind. Damn it, Liv!

Flustered, she balled her hands into fists, physically forcing her gaze anywhere but on his...accoutrements. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Me?” he asked. Before he could go further, he looked beyond her and Briar into the bedroom and paled considerably. “Ma?”

Vera’s voice cracked like thunder. “Byron Atticus Strong!”

As if realizing he was bare as a bumpkin, he reached down to cover himself. Roxie’s face flamed hotter at the move and she covered her mouth. “What is this, a town meeting?” he asked.

“Why the Dickens aren’t you next door?” Vera said sharply.

“Next door?” Roxie asked. The truth hit her flat in the face. “You’re the tenant?” Of course he was the tenant.

“I used to be,” Byron answered. “Now I live here.”

Briar’s mouth formed into an intrigued O. She then cleared her throat and gestured toward the bedroom door. “Harmony and I will just tiptoe downstairs and wait.” She cast her eyes in Byron’s direction, fighting a grin. “Hi, Byron.”

He pressed his lips together. “Briar.”

Roxie waited until Briar was gone before lifting her shoulders. “What do you mean you live here now?”

Byron glanced around her to his mother. “By any chance, have you spoken with Pop about the house lately?”

“No,” Vera said. “Why?”

Byron cursed under his breath. His gaze veered back to Roxie. “If you’re interested in leasing the Victorian, you’re going to be disappointed.”

“Why?” Roxie asked, fearing she knew the answer already.

“Because it’s mine,” Byron finished. “Sorry, duchess.”