“You don’t hate her?”
Hating Delaney had never been his problem. “No, I don’t hate her.”
“Oh.” She stuffed the fingernail polish into her backpack and reached for her coat on the back of her chair. “Will you take me to my orthodontist appointment at the end of the month?”
Nick stood and helped her with her coat. Sophie’s appointment was almost a two-hour drive one way. “Can’t your dad take you?”
“He’ll be on his honeymoon.”
“Oh, yeah. I’ll take you then.”
As he walked her to the door she wrapped one arm around his waist. “Are you sure you’re never getting married, Uncle Nick?”
“Yes.”
“Grandma says you just need to find a nice Catholic girl. Then you’ll be happy.”
“I’m already happy.”
“Grandma says you need to fall in love with a Basque woman.”
“Sounds like you’ve been spending way too much time talking about me with Grandma.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re never getting married.”
He reached up and pulled a hunk of her smooth black hair. “Why?”
“ ‘Cause I like having you all to myself.”
Nick stood on the sidewalk in front of his office and watch his niece walk down the street. Sophie was spending too much time with his mother. He figured it was only a matter of time before Benita lured her to the dark side, and Sophie began to nag him about marrying a nice “Basque” woman, too.
He shoved his hands up to his knuckles in the front pockets his jeans. Louie was the marrying kind. Not Nick. Louie’s first marriage hadn’t lasted more than six years, but his brother had liked being married. He’d liked the comfort of living with a woman. Louie had always known he would remarry. He’d always known he would fall in love, but it had taken him close to eight years after his divorce to find the right woman. Nick didn’t doubt that his brother would be happy with Lisa.
The door to Delaney’s salon swung open and an old lady with one of those silver-dome hairdos ambled out. As she passed, she stared at him as if she knew he was up to no good. He laughed beneath his breath and lifted his gaze to the window. Through the glass he watched Delaney sweep the floor, then head toward the back with a dustpan. He watched her straight shoulders and back, and the sway of her hips beneath a sweater skirt that clung to her round behind. A heavy ache settled in his groin, and he thought about perfect white breasts and pink feathers. He thought of her big brown eyes, her long lashes, and the lust pulling at her heavy lids, her mouth wet and swollen from his kiss.
I want you, she’d said, or rather he’d coerced her into saying it like he was some lovesick loser begging her to want him. Never in his life had he demanded a woman tell him she wanted him. He didn’t have to. It had never mattered if those words were whispered from a woman’s soft pink lips. Apparently it did now.
No maybes about it anymore. Henry knew what he was doing when he drew up that will. He’d reminded Nick of just what it felt like to want something he could never have, to ache for something held just beyond his grasp. Something he might touch but never really possess.
A few light snowflakes drifted in front of Nick’s face, and he walked back into his office and grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair. Some men made the mistake of confusing lust for love. Not Nick. He didn’t love Delaney. What he felt for her was worse than love. It was gut-twisting lust, and it was turning him inside out. He was walking around and behaving like a complete asshole with a monster-sized hard-on for a woman who hated him most of the time.
Delaney pushed the tomatoes to one side of her plate, then speared a piece of endive and chicken.
“How’s business?” Gwen asked, immediately arousing Delaney’s suspicion. Gwen never asked about the salon.
“Pretty good.” She looked across the table and stuck the lettuce into her mouth. Her mother was up to something. She never should have agreed to meet for lunch in a restaurant where she couldn’t yell without causing a scene. “Why?” she asked.
“Helen always does the hair for the Christmas fashion show, but this year I spoke with the other members of the board, and I’ve convinced them to let you do the hair.” Gwen poked around at her fettuccini, then set her fork aside. “I thought you could use the publicity.”
More than likely it was a way for her mother to rope her into serving on some sort of dumb committee. “Just the hair? That’s it?”
Gwen reached for her hot tea with lemon. “Well, I thought you could be in the show, too.”
There it was. The real reason. Styling hair for the show was a bone. What Gwen really wanted was to parade around in matching mother-daughter lamй like they were twins. There were two rules of the fashion show, the dress or costumes had to be made by hand and had to reflect the season. “You and me together?”
“Of course I’d be there.”
“Dressed alike?”
“Similar.”
Not a chance. Delaney clearly remembered the year she’d been forced to dress as Rudolph. She might not have minded if she hadn’t been sixteen. “I couldn’t possibly be in the show and do the hair.”
“Helen does.”
“I’m not Helen.” She reached for a breadstick. “I’ll do the hair, but I want the name of my salon printed in the program and announced at both the start and finish of the show.”
Gwen looked a little less than pleased. “I’ll have someone on the board get hold of you.”
“Great. When is the show?”
“During the Winter Festival. It’s always the third Saturday, a few days before the ice sculpture contest.” She set her cup back on the saucer and sighed. “Remember when Henry was mayor and we used walk beside him and help with the judging?”
Of course she remembered. Each December businesses in Truly made huge snow sculptures in Larkspur Park, drawing tourists for hundreds of miles. Delaney remembered her frozen cheeks and nose, and her big fluffy coat and furry hat as she walked beside Henry and her mother. She remembered the crisp smell of ice and winter and the feel of hot chocolate warming her hands.
“Remember the year he let you choose the winner?”
She’d probably been twelve, and she’d chosen Quality Meats and Poultry’s fifteen-foot Lamb Chop. Delaney took another stab at her salad. She’d forgotten about Lamb Chop.
“I need to talk to you about Christmas,” Gwen said.
Delaney assumed she would spend it at her mother’s, complete with a real tree, shiny presents, eggnog, chestnuts roasting on an open fire. The whole bit.
“Max and I are leaving on a Caribbean cruise on the twentieth, the day after the Winter Festival starts.”
“What?” She carefully set her fork back on her plate. “I didn’t know the two of you were that serious.”
“Max and I are getting close, and he suggested a warm vacation to find out just how strongly we feel for each other.”
Gwen had been a widow for all of six months and already had a serious boyfriend. Delaney couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a serious date. Suddenly she felt real pathetic, like an old spinster cat lady.
“I thought you and I could celebrate Christmas when I get back.”
“Okay.” She hadn’t realized how much she might have enjoyed a Christmas at home until she no longer had the option. Well, spending the holidays alone was nothing she hadn’t done before.
“And now that it has begun to snow, you should park your little car in my garage and drive Henry’s Cadillac.”
Delaney waited to hear the conditions, like she’d have to spend the night on weekends, attend a council meeting of some sort, or wear practical pumps. When Gwen didn’t elaborate, and reached for her fork instead, Delaney asked, “What’s the catch?”
“Why are you so suspicious all the time? I just want you to be safe this winter.”