Georgeanne closed the door to her office, shutting out the hum of mixers and the chatter of her employees. Like her home, the office she shared with Mae was filled with flowers and lace. And pictures. Dozens of them sat round the room. Most were of Lexie, several were of Mae and Georgeanne taken together at different jobs they’d catered. Three were of Ray Heron. Mae’s deceased twin brother had been captured in resplendent drag in two of the framed photographs, while in the third he looked fairly normal in jeans and a fuchsia sweater. Georgeanne knew Mae missed her twin and thought of him daily, but she also knew that Mae’s pain wasn’t as great as it had been. She and Lexie had filled the empty place left by Ray’s death, while Mae had become both sister to her and aunt to Lexie. The three of them were a family.
Moving to the window and lifting the shade, Georgeanne let in the early afternoon sunlight. She placed a three-page contract on the antique desk and sat. Mae wasn’t expected until later that afternoon, and Georgeanne had an hour before her lunch date with Charles. She pored over the itemized lists, rereading to make sure she didn’t miss anything important. When she lowered her gaze to the bottom line, her eyes widened, and she cut her finger on the edge of the paper. If Mrs. Fuller wanted her September birthday party to have a medieval theme, then she was going to have to pay big money for it. Absently she sucked her finger between her lips and reread the cost of the rare food. Hiring the Medieval Society to perform, and transforming the backyard of Mrs. Fuller’s home into a medieval fair, would take a lot of work and a lot of cash.
Georgeanne lowered her hand and sighed heavily as she eyed the special menu. Usually she thrived on challenge. She had fun creating wonderful events and planning unusual menus. She loved the feeling of accomplishment she got at the end when everything was packed back up and loaded into her vans. But not this time. She was tired and didn’t feel up to the task of catering a sit-down dinner for one hundred people. She hoped she would by September. Maybe her life would be more settled then, but for two weeks now, beginning with the day John had walked back into her life, she’d felt as if she were riding a roller coaster. Since the picnic in the park, he’d met her and Lexie at the Seattle Aquarium, and he’d taken them to Lexie’s favorite restaurant, the Iron Horse. Both events had been tense, but at least in the darkened warrens of the aquarium, Georgeanne hadn’t had to think of anything more mentally taxing than sharks and sea otters. The Iron Horse had been different. As they’d waited for their burgers brought to the table by a small train, attempting polite conversation had been excruciating. The whole time she’d felt as if she were holding her breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. The only time she’d felt she could breathe was when hockey fans approached their table and asked for John’s autograph.
If things were strained between Georgeanne and John, Lexie hadn’t seemed to notice at all. Lexie had immediately warmed to her father, which didn’t surprise Georgeanne. Lexie was friendly, outgoing, and genuinely liked people. She smiled, laughed easily, and assumed that everyone just naturally thought she was the most wonderful little invention since Velcro. John obviously agreed with her. He listened attentively to her repeated dog and cat stories and laughed at all of her elephant jokes, which were pretty bad and not in the least bit funny.
Georgeanne set the contract aside and reached for a bill from the electrician who’d spent two days fixing the ventilation in the kitchen. She tried not to let the situation with John bother her. Lexie behaved no differently with John than she did with Charles. Still, there was a risk with John that wasn’t there with any other man. John was Lexie’s daddy, and there was a part of Georgeanne that feared their relationship. It was a relationship she couldn’t share. A relationship she’d never known, would never understand, and could only watch from a distance. John was the only man who could threaten Georgeanne’s closeness with her daughter.
A knock rapped her door as it swung open at the same time. Georgeanne looked up as her first cook stuck her head in the room. Sarah was a bright university student and a gifted pastry chef. “There’s a man here to see you.”
Georgeanne recognized the excited spark in Sarah’s eyes. Over the past two weeks, she’d seen it on a myriad of female faces. It was usually followed by giggles, ridiculous fawning, and requests for autographs. The door opened wide, and she glanced past Sarah to the man who reduced women to such embarrassing behavior. The man who looked oddly at ease in a formal tuxedo.
“Hello, John,” she greeted, and rose to her feet. He walked into the office, filling the small, feminine room with his size and masculine presence. A black silk tie hung loose down the front of a white pleated shirt. The top gold stud was left unfastened. “What can I do for you?”
“I was in the neighborhood and I thought I’d drop by,” he answered, and shrugged out of the jacket.
“Do you need anything?” Sarah inquired.
Georgeanne moved toward the doorway. “Please have a seat, John,” she said over her shoulder. She looked out into the kitchen at her employees, who weren’t even bothering to hide their interest. “No, thank you,” she said, and closed the door on their curious faces. She turned around and assessed John’s appearance in one glance. His jacket lay over his shoulder, held in place by the hook of two fingers. Against the stark white shirt, black suspenders ran up his wide chest and made a Y down his back. He looked good enough to eat with a spoon.
“Who’s this?” he asked, holding a photograph in a porcelain frame. Staring back at him, Ray Heron looked especially fetching in a pageboy wig and a red kimono. Although Georgeanne had never met Ray, she admired his skill with eyeliner and his flair for dramatic color. Not every woman, or man, could wear that particular shade of red and look so good in it.
“That’s Mae’s twin brother,” she answered, and walked behind her desk once more. She waited for him to say something derogatory and cruel. He didn’t. He just lifted one eyebrow and set the photograph back on her desk.
Once again Georgeanne was reminded of how out of place he looked in her environment. He didn’t fit. He was too big, too masculine, and too incredibly handsome. “Are you getting married?” she joked as she sat.
He glanced around, then tossed the jacket on the back of an armchair. “Hell no! This isn’t mine.” He pulled the chair forward and took a seat. “I was in Pioneer Square doing an interview,” he explained casually, and shoved his hands into the front pockets of the wool trousers.
Pioneer Square was about five miles from Georgeanne’s business. Not exactly in the neighborhood. “Nice tux. Whose is it?”
“I don’t know. The magazine probably borrowed it from somewhere.”
“What magazine?”
“GQ. They wanted a couple of pictures by the waterfall,” he answered so nonchalantly, Georgeanne wondered if he was being purposely blas?.
“I needed a little break, so I took off. Do you have a few minutes?”
“A few,” she answered, and glanced at the clock on the corner of her desk. “I’m catering a party at three.”
He cocked his head to the side. “How many parties do you cater a week?”
Why was he fishing? “Depends on the week,” she answered evasively. “Why?”
John glanced about the office. “You seem to be doing real well.”
She didn’t trust him for a second. He wanted something. “Are you surprised?”
He looked back at her. “I don’t know. I guess I just never figured you for a businesswoman. I always thought you’d gone back to Texas and snagged yourself a rich husband.”
His unflattering speculation irritated her, but she supposed he wasn’t completely without justification. “As you know, that didn’t happen. I stayed here and helped build this business.” Then, because she couldn’t help bragging just a bit, she added, “We do very well.”
“I can see that.”
Georgeanne stared at the man in front of her. He looked like John. He had the same smile, same scar running through his eyebrow, but he wasn’t acting like him. He was acting… well, almost nice. Where was the guy who scowled and loved to provoke her? “Is that why you’re here? To talk about my business?”
“No. I have something I want to ask you.”