Once Upon An Heirloom (Meet Cute Romance Book 3) Page 3

  “So now what?” asked Brandon. “You can’t just up and say, ‘Hey, I bought your grandmother’s ring and I’ve been trying to find you for two months to return it,’” warned Brandon. “You’d look like a creepy stalker guy.”

  “Whether you were originally looking to go out with her or not, Perfect Chemistry matched the two of you,” Isabelle pointed out. “Put the issue of the ring aside for now and just strike up a conversation. Be yourself, and I’m sure she’ll be charmed. I was when I met you.”

  “Hey!” said Brandon.

  She pressed a smacking kiss to his lips. “You charmed me first. Still, Ev has this whole utterly adorable geek thing going on.”

  “Um, thanks,” said Everett. “I think.”

  “Trust me. Women love beta heroes. Smart, sensitive, funny. You’ve got this.”

  He let out a breath. “I hope you’re right.”

  ~*~

  “I’m not going,” declared Sylvie. She plopped down on her bed in protest and crossed her bunny-slippered feet.

  “Do you want to raid my closet? I know I never feel like I have anything to wear when I’m getting ready for a new date,” said Brenna as she dug through Sylvie’s closet. “I’ve got this red dress—”

  “It has nothing to do with my clothes. I’m just not going. This whole thing was a mistake. I should never have let you talk me into it.”

  “You have to go,” Brenna insisted. “He’s going to be waiting for you at El Charro.”

  “So? If he never meets me in the first place, he doesn’t even know who to be mad at.”

  “Apart from the fact that that’s totally rude and uncool behavior, you could run into him around town somewhere. We’re not that big a city. And then where will you be?”

  “I’ll be where I wanted to be before you dragged me into this mess.”

  Brenna turned, a little black dress in hand. “Come on, Syl, you can’t stand the poor guy up on Valentine’s Day. You agreed to this date.”

  “No, you agreed to this date for me. And wouldn’t let me back out. Well, I’m backing out now. Who the hell goes for a first date on Valentine’s Day? Nobody, that’s who.”

  “First off, you were the one who talked to him in chat for two hours the last three nights running. All I did was give the answer you should have given before you could talk yourself out of it. Second, he admitted he didn’t realize that Friday was Valentine’s and offered to change the time and location to something else.”

  “Which you said no to for me,” Sylvie reminded her.

  “Because you’d have backed out of that, too. Look, it’s Mexican. Who goes out for Mexican on Valentine’s Day? Nobody serious. I’m telling you, this is a no pressure first date.”

  “There is no such thing as a no pressure first date.” Not for her. Not anymore. God, would she ever be able to go out with a guy again without worrying he had ulterior motives or a criminal record?

  “Sylvie…” Brenna put down the dress and perched on the bed. “You had a nice conversation with this guy. This is your chance to have a nice meal. Dinner is not a contract, it’s not an engagement. It’s not even a promise of a second date. It’s just dinner. And if he turns out to be a dud, then at least you’ll have gotten your favorite chips and dip.”

  “I can get that with you.” She knew she sounded petulant, but that was better than the vague gnawing panic fluttering in her chest.

  Brenna laid a hand over hers. “Honey, what are you afraid of?”

  “Do you want the full list?” Sylvie scrubbed a hand over her face. “I’m…terrified. That this will be a disaster. That I’ll make a fool of myself. That Everett seems like this sweet, funny guy and he’ll turn out to be a jerk and a user. I just started to get back on my feet. And that was only through your help and some sacrifices I wish to God I hadn’t had to make. I can’t bear it if I have to go through all that again. I won’t survive it financially or emotionally.”

  “That’s a lot to put on a first date, sweetie.”

  “See?” Sylvie threw up her hands. “I’ve got some titanic trust issues, Brenna. Not just of men, but of myself. How can I trust my own judgment anymore?”

  “Because you’re a smart woman. Yeah, you made an error in judgment. But continuing to punish yourself for that insults your intelligence. You won’t make the same mistake twice. If that means you date a guy for months before he ever even finds out where you live, that’s fine. But all that is something to deal with down the line. Tonight you only have to deal with one thing: What you’re going to wear to go have a pleasant evening with a potentially charming and funny guy.”

  “But what if—”

  “No.” Brenna held up a hand. “No what ifs allowed. Now you’re going to get dressed in something that makes you feel good, and I’m going to drive you to El Charro.”

  “Don’t you have a date with Adam tonight?”

  “Not until much later. He had to work. So I’m going to take you to the restaurant and check him out with you. If we get a creeper vibe, we’ll come home. Otherwise, you’re going in. And you’ll call me to come get you when you’re done unless you feel comfortable with him bringing you home. Okay?”

  Sylvie tried to think of a way to argue against that plan and couldn’t think of a thing.

  She was still thinking forty-five minutes later when Brenna whipped into a parking space with a view of the front door to El Charro and said, “Now, we wait.”

  Sylvie wished for a fishbowl margarita. Surely that would make this more bearable.

  “Hey, isn’t that him?” asked Brenna. “It looks like his picture at Perfect Chemistry.”

  Sylvie zeroed in on a lanky figure hurrying across the parking lot. His shoulders were hunched against the cold, and she could only see him in profile, but the brown hair, the build, were right. As he turned his head to scan the parking lot, she sank down in her seat.

  “Oh yeah, that’s him. And honey, you don’t have a thing to worry about.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Look at that sweater.”

  Sylvie leaned forward and squinted to make out the pattern. “Are those…reindeer?”

  “With fur on the collar! There is not a con man or tool alive who would be caught dead in that thing. Obviously you made the right decision going totally casual instead of little black dress knockout.”

  “Bless his heart,” Sylvie murmured, feeling a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. How could she be intimidated by a guy wearing that?

  Brenna folded her arms on the steering wheel and grinned. “Doesn’t that make you want to just snap him up and give him a what not to wear intervention?”

  “I don’t know…it’s kind of adorable in a clueless sort of way.”

  “Well, don’t just sit here. Get on in there and find out if his personality matches.”

  ~*~

  The ring in Everett’s pocket seemed to have its own gravitational pull. He felt weighed down by it and half wondered why nobody seemed to notice him compulsively checking its presence. He wasn’t sure he could be more nervous if he were legitimately proposing, which was absolutely ridiculous. It was supposed to be a quick, impulsive act of kindness, over and done with. Now here he was, on Valentine’s Day of all days, waiting for a first date.

  “Table for two,” he told the hostess.

  The woman’s gaze flicked up, then down, seeming to linger on the bulge in his pocket.

  Great, it is noticeable, Everett thought with disgust.

  “Nice sweater,” she said, her lips twitching.

  Shit. That confirmed his suspicions. He looked like a complete ass in this sweater. But he’d given his coat away to Adrian Henning, the down-on-his-luck accountant, who’d come into the office for help that afternoon. The man had lost his job and then had the added insult of losing everything he owned in a house fire the week before. The case had taken longer than he’d anticipated to sort out, making arrangements for a new apartment and furnishings for Henning and his young family,
pulling strings to land him an interview the following week, so there’d been no time to run home to change or even shave. It was either freeze or make do with the horrendous sweater his mom had surprised him with at Christmas. He still wasn’t sure if the thing had been a serious gift or a joke.

  Maybe I can get a table and get out of it before she gets here, he thought.

  “Everett?”

  At the sound of his name in that soft, southern drawl, he turned and promptly forgot about the heinous sweater.

  Sylvie’s sunny hair was loose, spilling over the shoulders of her red parka. Her mouth was curved in a half-smile that made the corners of her eyes crinkle. It was such a departure from the strained, upset woman he’d seen at Vandevelde’s that, for a moment, he was struck dumb. He’d known in a purely academic sense that she was beautiful. But he’d been focused on her situation, not on the woman herself. She was absolutely stunning.

  “Wow.”

  The half smile turned full wattage, and Everett realized he’d said that aloud. Whatever embarrassment he felt never actually manifested, as his synapses were, quite simply, fried.

  “Have you been waiting long?” she asked.

  The best he could manage was a shake of the head.

  “This way please,” said the hostess.

  Right. There were other people here. In the restaurant. Where they were going to have a meal.

  Everett held out his hand in an after you gesture. Sylvie moved by him and he loosed a breath. Okay, buddy, get in the game.

  El Charro had decorated for the occasion. The mural painted walls were draped in twinkle lights, and the over-table lights were set to dim. Across the room, a quartet of mariachis played a bright, bouncy polka for a family of six.

  Everett managed to get his brain in gear just in time to pull out a chair for Sylvie. The gesture seemed to fluster her. A blush crept across her cheeks as she eased into the spot and began to shimmy out of the coat. Circling around to the other side of the table, he blessed his mother for the endless drills on manners and etiquette. No matter how rattled he was, he could always fall back on that.

  The arrival of their server with a basket of chips and salsa put off the awkward lull in conversation for a few moments longer. They both ordered a glass of wine.

  “Can I interest you in any other appetizers?”

  “Queso,” they said in unison, and laughed.

  “The great equalizer,” said Everett as the waitress walked away.

  “It’s a personal weakness,” she admitted.

  “I can think of worse forms of kryptonite.”

  Sylvie’s focus dipped down to the chips and salsa. She took one and said, “I have a confession.”

  “Oh yeah?” What would this be? That she recognized him from the jewelers? That she knew who he really was?

  “I almost didn’t come tonight. My roommate browbeat me into it.”

  “Oh.” What else did you say to that kind of announcement?

  She looked up, a hint of alarm on her face as it hit her that she might have insulted him. “It wasn’t that I didn’t want to meet you,” she said in a rush. Her hand shot out to cover his. “I’ve really enjoyed chatting with you this week. But in the interest of full disclosure, I have to tell you my last relationship was a real doozy of a failure, and it’s left me a little bit gun shy.”

  Her fingers were warm. Everett wanted to turn his hand to link with hers but didn’t think she realized she’d moved, so he held still.

  “Nothing wrong with being cautious,” he said. “I’ve had my share of less than successful attempts.” Women who’d looked at his name and seen dollar signs rather than him. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad your roommate changed your mind.”

  Sylvie smiled at him again, and it arrowed straight to his chest. Oh boy.

  “Here we go. Two white wines, one bowl of queso.”

  They both eased back as the waitress served them, and Everett regretted the loss of her touch.

  “Do you know what you want to order, or do you need another few minutes?”

  “I’m good,” said Sylvie. “I eat here a lot.”

  “Me too. Go ahead.”

  As she ordered, his mind was on what she’d said. In the interest of full disclosure.

  I should go ahead and tell her about the ring, he thought. Get it out of the way. He tugged out the box, fisted it in his hand beneath the table as he reeled off his order. By the time the server left, he’d already forgotten what he’d asked for. Because he was nervous again, Everett picked up the wine and sipped.

  “So, I guess this is the part where we do all the get to know you stuff,” said Sylvie.

  A subject change. Should he defer the confession or go with the flow of the conversation?

  “Are you from the area?” she asked.

  Everett shook his head. “My family is based in Seattle. We used to come out here every winter to ski. I loved it so much, I moved here when I finished school.”

  She scooped up some cheese dip. “What’d you study?”

  “Law.”

  “Oh, so you’re an attorney?”

  “Not most of the time.”

  There was that flicker of a smile again. “What sort of job do you have where you don’t practice but some of the time?”

  Maybe a discussion of his philanthropy could work its way back around to the ring. “I work for a non-profit here in town. New Day?”

  “I’ve heard of it,” she said with a nod.

  “We help the unemployed with interviews, placement. Help get them suitable clothes and such. Set up living arrangements for those who’ve hit on hard times and need a leg up. Do a lot of work with families. And I whip out the law degree for some pro bono work from time to time, as the need arises, since sometimes those hard times are a direct result of some legal snarl up.”

  “What a wonderful job.”

  “I love it. It’s really rewarding, finding ways to help people. Kind of addictive, in fact.”

  “Well, if you’re going to have an addiction, one that’s for the benefit of humanity seems like a pretty awesome one to have.”

  Everett jerked his shoulder in a shrug. “I’ve done some pretty crazy things in the name of helping folks.” The box in his hand felt hot. Or maybe that was his hand sweating.

  Now or never, he thought. Get it out there.

  ~*~

  Wow, what a guy, thought Sylvie. If she could’ve written up a request for a man as polar opposite from Neal as it was possible to get, she was pretty sure the answer would be Everett. How incredibly wonderful was that?

  “You know, for the record, I’m really glad I changed my mind and came tonight,” she said.

  He smiled at her. “Hang on to that thought,” he said.

  What a strange thing to say.

  “There’s something I wanted to give you.”

  “Okay…”

  Everett lifted his hand, laid something on the table. His expression was tense, an odd mix of some kind of anxiety and…maybe hope. Sylvie felt an answering wisp of unease unfurl and had the strangest desire not to look. Because she knew that whatever he’d put on the table was going to change something, and she’d just decided she liked where they were.

  The mariachi band burst into song beside them. They both jolted, looking over into the musicians’ grinning faces as they played what Sylvie imagined was some kind of Spanish love song. God, talk about awkward. Everett looked distressed by their presence, which was actually kind of cute. She’d already learned he was too polite to ask them to leave, so they’d both endure this uncomfortable interlude until the song was finished.

  Sylvie dropped her gaze to the box on the table and her mind went utterly blank as she stared at it.

  A ring box.

  He’d brought her a ring.

  On Valentine’s Day.

  Oh God.

  Panic and mortification burst to life inside her. Of course, he wasn’t as amazing as he seemed. He was crazy. He was proposing on th
eir first date? They didn’t even know each other’s last names!

  Sylvie pushed back from the table, fumbling to grab for her coat and purse. Everett was trying to say something, but she couldn’t hear anything over the music and the roaring in her ears. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

  Everybody was staring. She had to get the hell out of here. Skirting around another table, she managed to get past the band and made a beeline for the exit, not quite running. Everett got caught by the musicians. She could hear him uttering apologies as he tried to get past them. Dear God, were they following him? She was already to the hostess station when he called her name.

  “Sylvie, wait!”

  She didn’t, instead shoving her arms into the coat and heading for the door, weaving through the patrons waiting for tables.

  “It’s not what you think!”

  Sylvie hit the door, burst out into the cold night. What was she going to do? Brenna had driven her. It would take a good fifteen minutes for her to get here.

  I should’ve hidden in the restroom, she thought. It was too late now. The door behind her was already opening.

  “Sylvie, please just listen.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. Amazing how he didn’t look or sound like a crazy person. But maybe that was the thing. Maybe crazy didn’t show on the outside. “Everett, I’m sorry, but I really can’t do this. I apologize if I’ve given you the impression—” Of what? That I was also a lunatic? “—that I’m looking for something serious, but I—”

  “Sylvie, it’s your grandmother’s ring.”

  Whatever response she’d expected from him, it wasn’t that. “What?”

  “Just listen, please.”

  She turned toward him fully, then, holding her purse by the strap in case she needed to hit him with it. “I’m listening.”

  “This is not a proposal. I’m not a lunatic, I swear.”

  “That’s what a lunatic would say, I expect.”

  He tipped his head and laughed a little. “Fair point. Look, I was there, at Vandevelde’s the day you sold your grandmother’s ring.”

  “You what?” She wracked her brain, but she could remember only the jeweler himself. Then again, she’d been so distraught, a T-Rex could’ve walked by outside, and she’d probably have missed it.