"Too spicy, Emma. You know what I’ve said in the past about spicy sauce."
"Ah, c’mon, boss." Emma threw up her hands. "Don’t you know spice is the variety of life? Or something like that anyway."
Tom sighed, but smiled at Emma. "Do you do this just to get on Michel’s nerves or mine?"
Emma squeezed him around the waist affectionately. The top of her head barely reached his shoulders. "Both. It’s my mission in life to keep you men on your toes. Besides, adding more sugar would ruin that sauce. How can you put a sweet tomato sauce over my homemade gnocchi? It’d be a sin. A culinary sin."
"Just remember, Emma, you’re the sous-chef. Michel is your boss."
"I can get around that," Emma retorted saucily.
"I bet you can."
With just a smile, Emma could have Michel not knowing whether he was slicing or dicing. Tom had seen it more than once. Though they’d never so much as gone on a date, Emma was clearly certain of the chef’s romantic inclinations toward her. It was equally obvious to any who knew them that Michel would never admit to such an attraction.
"Boss?
"Hmmm?" Tom turned back to the specials list.
Thursday nights were Italian night at The Foxfire, with several pasta dishes in addition to Emma’s gnocchi featured. Completely involved with perusing the menu, Tom didn’t notice Emma’s silence until he turned to find her staring at him, bemusement clear upon her freckled face.
"Who is she?" Emma’s merry green eyes glinted knowingly.
"Who is who?"
"The bit of fluff who’s got you so riled. I could tell something’s been on your mind all day. All week, too. You haven’t been out of the house except to come to work, and I’ve actually been able to make a phone call or two. Was it that busty blonde who likes to ride horses? Or the skinny chick who always smelled like gardenias?" She paused, as though a horrible thought had just come to her. "Please don’t tell me it’s Wendi."
Tom set his jaw. "You know better than that."
Emma sniffed. "Thank God. So who was it?"
Tom shook his head. Emma knew way too much about his social life. He supposed that was the problem when you not only hired your niece as sous-chef in your restaurant, but let her live in your house, too.
"It doesn’t matter, Emma. She wasn’t interested in me."
Emma stepped back, looking impressed. "Was she blind? I mean, look at you! Every woman who walks in here wants to be on you like butter on a cob of corn!"
"Thanks, Em," Tom replied dryly.
"She really didn’t go for you, huh?" Emma appeared sympathetic. "That’s a first."
Her casual assessment of his love life suddenly annoyed him. "You make me sound like some kind of Don Juan."
"And you’re not?" She raised her eyebrows at him and looked so much like his older sister he might have laughed…had he not been in such a bad mood.
He scowled instead, showing her his back. "No, I’m not. Dating a lot of woman just means I haven’t been lucky enough to find the right one yet, that’s all."
"Sorry." Emma paused. "I was trying to make you feel better, not worse."
Tom forced a smile on his face for the effervescent young chef. It wasn’t her fault Lila Lazin had rejected him. Nor was it Emma’s fault he couldn’t get Lila out of his mind.
"Thanks, Emma. But I’m fine."
Emma patted his shoulder kindly. "If you say so. If you say so."
* * *
Why was everyone so crazed by five o’clock? It made Lila sullen. She lost her parking spot to a pair of middle-aged women driving a Mercedes. She’d had to fight traffic all the way from her office, and now the parking lot was a zoo. Lila swung around the lot again, finally parking so far away from the mall she practically needed binoculars to find the building.
She had some time to kill before the meeting at Rivka’s gallery and there was no sense in running all the way home. She’d hit the bookstore. Stephen King’s latest novel had just been released, and Lila was aching to get her hands on a copy. She was a manic King fan, devouring his books in hours.
So intent was she on cutting through the crowd toward the bookstore, Lila nearly tripped over a parcel someone had carelessly left on the floor. Biting her tongue as the pain in her toe moved her to curse, Lila stepped back and focused her attention on the package’s owner. The petite, platinum blonde glared at her with barely veiled distaste and cradled her violated parcel like it was a wounded child.
"Hello, Lila," the man with the blonde said, his voice so cool it made Lila’s arms perk with goosebumps.
"William." She sounded stiff. Her stomach twisted. He looked as handsome as ever, his sandy hair perfectly styled and his fit body perfectly clothed. He still looked as though he could have stepped off the cover of GQ.
"Haven’t seen you for a while, Lils." William seemed oblivious to the fact his every word was a sword in her side. He’d even called her Lils, which he knew she hated.
"Well, you wouldn’t have, would you?" Lila was glad to hear that, while William’s appearance might be tearing up her insides, her voice remained steady.
William laughed, a completely insincere booming sound. "This is my wife, Pansy." He tugged forward the petite blonde, who stared at Lila as though she had just vomited on Pansy’s elegant suede boots. "Pansy, this is Lila Lazin."
"Charmed." Pansy briefly touched Lila’s fingers with her own.
"Congratulations," Lila managed to say.
"Thanks." William patted her arm. "You ought to think about tanning. You look like death warmed over."
Then he was gone, taking Pansy with him. Heedless of the crowd surging around her, Lila stared after them until finally someone bumped into her. Realizing she was making a spectacle of herself, Lila sank down onto the nearby bench and forced her hands to stop shaking. The pain had bloomed again with vicious brilliance.
"You’re a nice girl," William had said to her—the memory as clear as spring water. He had taken her to dinner at their favorite restaurant. She had thought he was going to propose. Instead, he had broken her heart. "Nice, but not quite enough for me. I need someone a lot…prettier."
Lila had nearly choked on her dinner roll. William’s nightmarish words echoed in her head like discordant church bells. "We’ve been together nearly a year, William. You only decided this now?"
William had smiled, though the expression didn’t reach his brown eyes. "It was a kick at first, you know. To see what it would be like to be average. After a while, I just figured I was doing you a favor. I’m tired of doing you a favor."
Incredibly, he had wanted to finish the meal. He had not understood why Lila had left the table, or why she had refused to allow him to drive her home. "After all," he had told her, "it’s not like you ought to have believed me when I told you I loved you.
"That’s just what people say," he had said. "My God, Lila, don’t tell me you were foolish enough to think a man like me could ever love someone like you."
William had left her shivering in the winter wind outside that restaurant. He hadn’t even given her money for cab fare. Lila had walked home. She tossed her pretty shoes in the gutter when one heel broke, and shredded her stockings on the gravel. Her feet had healed, but her heart had not.
Lila sat on the bench for a long time and watched the ebb and flow of evening shoppers pass her by. She didn’t want to hurt this much over something as sad and simple as running into an old lover, yet she did. Finally, she forced herself off the bench and headed again toward the bookstore. Not even the heavy novel could lift her spirits.
Thoroughly depressed, she headed over to the new gallery, pausing to put a smile on her face before she went inside. She didn’t want to ruin her sister’s joy at the new project. The gallery looked gorgeous. Even missing the few final touches that would make it complete, Lila couldn’t help being impressed by the building’s exquisitely designed interior. Rivka’s influence, of course. It was visible in everything from the tiled entryway to the whims
ical sunflower-shaped soap dispensers in the restroom.
"Wow," was all she could say when her sister had finished the brief tour. "It’s wonderful, Riv. I’m really impressed. It’ll be the nicest gallery you’ve ever shown in."
"I haven’t shown you the best part," Rivka said, drawing Lila out of the main space and into a smaller room. "I call this The Bold Room. It’s for you, Lila-love."
The rest of the gallery was still empty, waiting for the arrival of Rivka’s paintings, but The Bold Room had already been filled. Three walls of the room had been hung with Rivka’s canvasses, while the center of the room held only some comfortable chairs.
Paintings of Lila filled the room.
"Why, Rivka?" Lila managed to ask. At the sight of her sister’s generous gift, tears had welled in her eyes. She sank into one of the plush seats, unable to keep the grin from bursting through her tears.
"Because I’ve never devoted a whole show to my paintings of you before."
To Lila’s surprise, her normally cheerful sister was teary-eyed as well.
Rivka sat down beside Lila and took her hand. "You deserve this. Without you, I never would’ve been able to make myself such a success."
"Oh, Riv." Lila tried to wave away her sister’s praise, but Rivka refused to let her.
"It’s true!" Rivka gave her sister a fierce hug. "You’ve always been there for me. Whenever I thought about quitting, getting a real job, I could always count on you to talk me through. It was your job at the magazine that kept me in canvas and paints before my first sales. It was your couch I camped on, and Mick, too, when we couldn’t afford the rent on our apartment. You haven’t done anything but help us out, and I wanted everyone to know that. My sister, the bold."
The sisters shared a sentimental hug before being interrupted by a sound from the doorway. "And sure, if it isn’t a fine sight I’m seeing! The two of ya, blathering like a pair of ninnies!"
"Hi, Mick." Lila rose to greet her brother-in-law with a hug and kiss to the cheek. "Isn’t this great?"
"Ah, ’tis the best part of the whole damn gallery," Mick said sincerely, his faint Irish brogue thickening noticeably with emotion. "We couldn't've done it without you, lass."
"Don’t you start," Rivka admonished, shaking her head. She scrubbed her face free of tears. "You Irish. Ready to cry at the drop of a hat."
Mick pressed a passionate kiss to his wife’s mouth. "Ah, go on with you, Rivka Lazin Delaney."
"You didn’t say that last night," Rivka countered, squeezing his bum affectionately. The pair giggled and cooed like a couple of teenagers.
They always acted that way, though they'd now been married for almost ten years.
"You’ve a fine mouth," Mick scolded in jest. "To talk in front of your sister that way."
"Let me show you how fine my mouth is." Rivka countered by kissing him again.
Lila, who was used to the antics of the pair, merely rolled her eyes. She decided to leave them to their mock fighting and look at the room Rivka had named for her. The first painting patrons would see when they entered was the first Rivka had ever done of her, and Lila’s favorite. In it, she was sitting in their grandmother’s rocking chair—her feet bare and her hair tangled. She was smiling.
It was not only a good likeness, but flattering, too. In it, she looked actually pretty. If only her sister’s vision could be what Lila saw when she looked in the mirror every day.
There were other portraits, not all of them Lila as she truly appeared. In some, her features had been blended with those of her mother or grandmother. "Lighting the Sabbath Candles" had Lila clothed in the dress her great-grandmother had worn on her wedding day in Russia, while "Sunday at the Park" showed her as a child. Rivka had painted that one from memory. Finally, Lila had toured the whole room and came to the last.
Titled simply "Lila-love," it showed her standing in front of a bed of flowers, their vibrant colors seeming nearly to writhe off the page. The brush strokes were bold, almost harsh. Thick layers of paint created a three-dimensional look to the piece that was Rivka’s signature style.
In the portrait, Lila’s arms were raised above her head and her hands stretched toward the blazing orange sun at the top of the canvas. Her face was slightly turned so the viewer could catch only a glimpse of her eyes and mouth. Barely enough by which to identify her, for which Lila was eternally thankful. The portrait was a nude, faithful down to the mole on her right thigh and the way her left breast was slightly fuller than her right.
"Greetings, all," Martin said jovially. A portly, silver-haired man, he always wore an immaculate three-piece suite and had a deep, booming voice. He'd taken on Rivka as a client long before she'd ever gained any notoriety. The Gallery on Second was a much his success as it was hers. "The first meeting of the Delaney Partnership is about ready to roll, eh?"
He joined Lila at the wall. "Brilliance on canvas. Your sister is such a talent, Lila."
Lila blushed, though she knew Martin looked at the picture with nothing more than a practiced art dealer’s eye. "She certainly is."
Mick joined them. "‘Tis one of my favorites."
Rivka poked his stomach none-too-gently. "Only because it gives you a chance to ogle my sister’s goodies, you pervert!"
"Ah, sweetheart, you should know the only goodies I ogle are yours." Mick bent her over for another kiss. Rivka, who knew exactly that, laughed throatily.
Martin ignored them. "We’ll just wait for our last partner to arrive."
Lila had the distinct sense Mick and Rivka’s antics embarrassed the stately gentleman. She supposed she was so used to their bawdy behavior by now, nothing they did could faze her. After all, when they had all been living in the tiny apartment she’d rented before buying her house, there hadn’t been much space for privacy. Lila probably knew as much about her sister’s love life with her husband as they did—more than Lila wanted to know anyway.
"He should be here any minute, check in hand." Rivka briefly pulled away from Mick. He wrapped his arms around her and, eyes shining, she leaned into his embrace. "Then we’ll officially be in business."
Lila studied the light on Rivka’s face. It was her sister’s dream come true—her own gallery. Mick stole another kiss from Rivka, and Lila felt a momentary pang she refused to recognize as jealousy. Her sister had it all. A successful career and now her own gallery. And a husband who adored her.
Lila had no more time to dwell on what she may or may not have been missing in her life because the bell on the front door chimed to announce the arrival of the final partner.
"In here!" Rivka called.
"Hello," a masculine voice said, and Lila’s heart did a triple-thump.
"I’d like you to meet my sister, Lila Lazin," Rivka said when the tall, dark-haired man had finally made his way to The Bold Room.
Lila could say nothing, could only stare in mingled shock and excitement at seeing him again. He was even more handsome than she remembered, if that was possible. She blushed.
"We’ve met." Tom spoke wryly. "Hello, Lila."
CHAPTER 3
She was going to die. Explode. Spontaneously combust. There’s no way around it, Lila thought. Being this close to Tom was going to send her over the edge.
"Tom, the gnocchi was superb." Martin pushed away his dessert plate and wiped his lips with the fine linen napkin. "And the cheesecake divine."