 
# BE MINE

A Moonlight and Magnolias Novella

Kris Calvert

Copyright © 2014 Kris Calvert  
Smashwords Edition
© Copyright 2014 by Kris Calvert

Smashwords Edition

Cover by Jim Wilmink, Insignia Design

jim@insigniadesign.com

Edited by Mary Yakovets

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

## Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright Page

Acknowledgements

Dedication

Monday, January 6th

Wednesday, January 8th

Friday, January 10th

Tuesday, January 14th

Wednesday, January 22nd

Saturday, January 25th

Monday, January 27th

Tuesday, January 28th

Wednesday, January 29th

Thursday, January 30th

Thursday, February 6th

Friday, February 7th

Tuesday, February 11th

Thursday, February 13th

Friday, February 14th

Connect with Kris

Excerpt from Sex, Lies & Sweet Tea

Coming Soon: Sex Lies & Lipstick

## Acknowledgements

Every year, millions of people look for, wait for and believe that love will find them. That love will somehow miraculously see their waiting heart and send the perfect match to their doorstep. But love is risky. Love is complicated. Love can be messy, and devastating.

On the other hand, love is what makes us feel alive and maybe, just maybe, the risk is worth the reward. Life is about making things happen – not waiting for them to happen. So if you love someone, be sure to tell them everyday–because life is short. And if you're looking for love, look for it everyday– because life is short.

Thank you to Mary, the best doggone grammar ninja in the business. You keep my I's dotted, my T's crossed, and me on my toes. I'm incredibly grateful for you.

Thank you Robyn, Jennifer and Molly for reading for me. Your suggestions, insight and friendship mean the world to me. Y'all rock and I love you.

Thank you Jim, my friend and colleague for over twenty years. You are the most talented designer I've ever had the pleasure of knowing or working with. Thank you for being my friend through thick and thin. I love you.

Finally, thank you to my wonderful husband, Rob and my two amazing children, Luke and Haley. I thank God every day that you're mine. You are my everything. I love you.
For the romantics: hopeful and hopeless.

Once in a while, right in the middle of an ordinary life, love will hand you the makings of a fairytale.

Be ready.
Pearls don't lie on the seashore.

If you want one, you must dive for it.

—Chinese proverb

## Monday, January 6th

Mike Montgomery hated January. He hated everything about it. It was dark every morning when he left his luxury apartment to manage the design firm he'd created eight years ago, and darker still when he returned home at night. January was the worst time of year in his opinion. The holidays were over, and winter would rear its ugly head for the next sixty to ninety days, or at least until the rat bastard, Puxatauwny Phil, gave his opinion.

The beginning of a new quarter, his clients once again had a budget to allocate on their marketing and design needs. In turn, business would be good. The longer hours and higher accounts receivable were always a welcome distraction to what Mike knew to be true. He was lonely.

A striking and refined man, Mike wasn't your run-of-the-mill tall, dark and handsome. Awkward through most of his teenage years, he'd quietly developed into the gorgeous chunk of change he was during design school. Unfortunately for him, his certainty in his looks and ability as an artist and businessman didn't do diddly-squat for his confidence with women he was romantically interested in.

He'd had his share of casual sex, as it was hard to turn a blind eye to a gorgeous woman offering it up. But he'd never been in love. He'd never cared for anyone past one romp in the hay, or inelegant sexual encounter. At the age of twenty-nine Mike Montgomery still retained his shy and awkward nature.

He'd committed most of his life to his career and the business he'd built since graduation. By allowing his personal life to take a back seat to his professional goals, he'd succeeded in amassing a small graphic design empire in the last decade, but had exchanged his acquaintances and friends – both male and female – for business colleagues and clients.

He had no time for love. At least that's what he told himself.

The one thing Mike looked forward to each morning was his daily trip into the downtown coffee shop. For the past year, on occasion he would cross paths with a woman who was nothing less than a goddess in his eyes – the beauty, who at seven fifteen a.m. would karmicly patronize his Starbucks on Vine.

She wasn't an ordinary woman. Beautiful of course – long blonde hair, blue eyes, and an unspoken grace that made him feel like he was in the presence of something special. And her smile – her smile made his heart beat wildly out of control. He found his mouth stitched together by his anxieties when his lingering gaze would catch her eye.

Although he'd not seen her since late November, he hoped each morning he'd get the chance to study her beauty yet again.

Last month he'd promised himself if he saw her he would find out who she was, what she did, and ask if she would join him for lunch, dinner, or even oddly enough, coffee. He knew her merely by her Starbucks' moniker – tall, non-fat, no foam latte.

Carefully choosing the witty banter he'd say upon meeting her again, Mike had spent countless hours working on his approach. But each time he would get within ten feet of her, his body tensed and his mind went blank.

And so it went. Every day Mike would patronize the Starbucks at seven fifteen sharp, in the hope he would have one fleeting moment to experience her graceful beauty. And today, Monday, January sixth, was no different.

"Good morning, Mike," Lexi the barista chimed. "It's getting messy out there already, huh?"

"Just another day in paradise," Mike smirked as he dusted the early morning snow from his head.

"What can I get started for you?" she asked, seemingly ignoring the sarcasm in his voice.

"The same. Please."

He quickly made his way to the newspapers for sale, as was his usual practice, while he waited for his coffee.

"Tall, non-fat, no foam latte," Lexi barked as she began to mark the cup.

"No," Mike stopped, wondering how Lexi could ever get his order wrong after two years of the exact same thing. "Why would you say that? That's not my order. That's hers." The words slipped out of his mouth before he could recall them as he thought about his coffee goddess.

"That's mine," a delicate voice rang from the dark corner.

There she was – walking out of the cold January morning and into his world. The non-fat, no foam latte goddess stood smiling in front of Mike. His heart began to beat wildly, right on cue.

"You aren't trying to take my coffee now, are you?" she mused with a laugh as Mike watched her eye him head to toe.

She was as beautiful as he'd fantasized every day. Her long blonde hair was pulled tightly into a ponytail, and the mink headband she wore to cover her ears contrasted with her milky complexion and bright red lips. Mike immediately thought she looked like a 1940's movie star. "No, I'm...I'm...café breve," he stuttered.

"Non-fat, no foam latte." She smiled as she extended her hand. "It's nice to meet you."

He physically trembled and verbally stumbled as he touched her ungloved skin. "I know...I mean, it's nice to meet you."

"You know?" she laughed. "Well, I'm not always non-fat, no-foam. Sometimes I fan it up a bit and go for the pumpkin spice."

Mike nodded, unable to make a coherent sound. He was lost in the moment. As he felt his breath become shallower, he searched his mind for all the funny lines and amazing words he'd promised himself he would say. Nothing.

She shrugged her shoulders politely and looked to the ground.

"Mike, your coffee," shouted Lexi from behind the counter as a sudden seven-twenty rush made its way into the shop.

Mike feared if he turned his back, she would be gone.

"Well then, café breve," she mused, picking up the violin case at her feet. "Have a nice day."

He watched her walk away and onto the snowy street that had become quietly lit by the new day.

"What just happened? Did that just happen?" he asked Lexi as she finished taking an order from another customer anxious for warmth and caffeine.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Mike. You had a golden opportunity to speak to Sarah and you didn't take it."

"Sarah?" he asked. "Is that her name?"

It suddenly occurred to Mike that Lexi knew more about the coffee patrons than merely what they wanted to drink. She could be his gateway to the goddess.

"Tell me what you know Lexi. Tell me now."

Lexi's shoulders fell and she gave Mike a heavy sigh.

"Calm your roll," she whispered.

"Calm my what?"

"Will you take over for me?" Lexi asked a fellow barista as she stepped around the bar and into the coffee lounge. "Look Mike, I can give you the 411, but you're gonna need to learn to open your mouth and actually speak to her. Because what I just witnessed? That was messed up."

Lexi laid it on the line for Mike, and suddenly he was being schooled by a nineteen-year-old college girl. "Her name is Sarah. Sarah Brooks. She's a violinist with the symphony orchestra."

"I saw the violin case."

"Whatever, dude. She's super nice, but I suspect now she's super creeped by your abnormal behavior."

"When does she usually come in, Lexi?" Mike questioned, taking her by the arm. "I haven't seen her in a couple of months."

"This is exactly the stalkerazzi behavior I'm talking about. You've got to pull it together. She's just back in town. She told me this morning she was on the road or something touring through the holidays."

"Thank you, Lexi," Mike blurted with excitement. "See you tomorrow."

"Wait! Your coffee!"

It was too late. Mike had already rushed out the door and into the snowy morning air. He was now in possession of what he'd longed for – the name and occupation of his goddess. What he did with it was entirely up to him.

## Wednesday, January 8th

Ellen Temple had been doing yoga for over two years. It was something her psychiatrist advised after her husband, a Marine sergeant, came home in a casket from Afghanistan. The yoga was supposed to clear her mind and help her relax. Mostly what it had done was cause her to drop ten pounds from her tall, slender frame, but it couldn't seem to lift the weight of her heavy heart.

Still, she enjoyed the three day a week distraction and the calm she felt while on the yoga mat from her usual work and single life. She'd become increasingly stronger as she mastered the poses and unusually flexible. She was proud of her twenty-five year old toned body. She looked like a rock star in her yoga clothes, easily displaying ripped ab muscles and defined arms and legs. She'd convinced herself the outward armor concealed her inner loneliness. It was a lie.

As she packed up for the night and pulled her long chestnut brown hair into a messy ponytail, she noticed something from the corner of her eye.

Seeing shadows wasn't anything new for Ellen. She'd felt like she was being watched or followed since the death of her husband, but when she looked up from tying her tennis shoe, she saw him – and he wasn't a shadow. He walked toward her as if they were acquaintances, but she was positive she didn't know him.

"I wanted to tell you that you have an amazing Salamba Sirasana," he said with a huge grin as he nervously shoved his hands into his pockets.

"I beg your pardon?" she asked with a giggle, wondering if she'd heard him correctly.

"Your supported headstand. It's a struggle for me, so when I come out of it early, I can see all the people who've mastered it. Yours is spectacular. I'm Penn Scott, by the way."

She took a beat, and looked at his outstretched hand hanging in the air. "Ellen Temple." She smiled and shook his hand.

"Can I buy you a water? Maybe a smoothie? You can explain your technique."

Ellen hesitated. She didn't think he was weird or dangerous. In fact, he was handsome. Penn Scott was tall, muscular and sported a completely shaven head which only accentuated his defined shoulder and arm muscles. She thought that a man with biceps as big as his should be able to do any yoga pose he wanted. "It's late and I really should be getting home."

"I understand," Penn said dropping his head and smile as his hands rushed back into the refuge of his pockets.

Ellen knew she'd hurt his feelings. She took a deep breath, feeling guilty enough to concede. "I guess we could go to the Starbucks around the corner for a black tea or something."

Penn's head lifted and the brilliant smile he'd introduced himself with returned.

Ellen rolled her yoga mat, slipped it into her duffle and stood to leave. It was then that she noticed Penn's very blue eyes.

"Let me take your bag," he offered.

"It's okay. I like carrying my stuff. Makes me feel responsible for my own life. You know?"

"Sure. I mean, I guess," he said with a puzzled but understanding look.

Penn had been eyeing Ellen in class for months. A well-known and skilled chiropractor in town, he'd even been shushed by the instructor when he asked a friend for her name.

"So what is it that you do, Miss Temple? Or may I call you Ellen?"

Ellen brushed the hair from her smile as the winter wind kicked up on the downtown street. She enjoyed his manners and thought he was charming in an old school sort of way. Her late husband, a true soldier and badass in his own right, had spoiled her to other men. Continually looking out for her and her best interest, he always had her six. It was one of the things she missed. Knowing that someone always had her back. "Please, call me Ellen."

"What is it you do, Ellen? I mean besides kick everyone's butt in yoga class?"

"I'm a graphic designer. I work for Montgomery Media."

"That's cool," he replied. "I think I've read an article about you guys. Some young hotshot runs the place, right? Seems really smart."

"Mike Montgomery."

"Yeah. That's him."

"Mike is all work and no play."

"Really?"

"Don't get me wrong. He's a brilliant designer and businessman."

"If you love what you do, work can seem like play."

"If that's true he's partying every day in the office," Ellen quipped.

Penn snorted at her wry joke.

"Penn Scott." she enunciated, wanting to change the subject from her boss.

"That's me."

"What do you do, Penn Scott?"

"I like the way you say my name. It makes me seem way more important than I am."

Penn smiled and raised his eyebrows, causing his entire head to wrinkle ever so slightly. It made his head look as muscular as the rest of him. Overall he had the tough exterior of a real man, but his adorable smile and baby blue eyes gave him a sweet boyish look that Ellen instantly liked.

"I'm a chiropractor. But not a weird 'I'm gonna cure all your ailments by cracking your head seven ways to Sunday' kind of chiropractor."

"Seriously?" Ellen questioned with a smile of astonishment. "Where've you been the last two years, Dr. Scott? I've lived most of my adult life with knots in my trapezius muscles. I even had a masseuse tell me she thought I had 'raccoons in my traps.' Too much time at the desk I suppose."

"Please, I'm not Dr. Scott. My patients call me 'Dr. Penn', or 'Hey, you in the white coat'."

"So you don't take yourself too seriously," Ellen giggled.

"Ah, no," he shook his head and smiled. "Raccoons in your traps, huh?"

"That's what she said."

"What's a joint like you doing in a girl like this? Sorry. Chiropractor humor isn't that funny."

Ellen quickly responded with a chuckle as she placed her hand gracefully over her mouth and laughed. "Maybe not. But you're pretty hilarious."

Penn gave a protested shrug and gawky laugh. He'd always thought of himself as a humorous guy, and he liked it that Ellen thought so too.

She shifted the heavy bag on her shoulder, letting out a tiny groan. "Ugh. So if you're a chiropractor and I'm in knots all the time, is this where I'm supposed to ask, 'Where've you been all my life?'"

"Well, I've been in the back of the room for at least six months," he laughed, feeding off her energy. "You're one of the overachievers in the front."

As they made the turn for Starbucks, Penn secretly hoped he wouldn't run into his sister, but figured he was safe considering she usually worked mornings before her classes at the local university.

Penn escorted her into the busy coffee shop and smiled as he watched her read the menu board. Her hairline was still damp with perspiration and Penn found her extremely sexy. She was beautiful and tough. Just the way he liked his women.

"Ellen, what would you like? A bottled water? A green tea?"

"I'll have an iced black tea," she said. "And a bottled water. If that's okay."

"It's absolutely okay. You may order whatever you'd like. I mean, I'd be lying if I didn't say I dream about the scones in the glass case, but I'll save myself from that embarrassment tonight. No one needs to see a grown man scarf a pastry in two bites."

"I wouldn't be offended. Believe me, I watched my late husband down more than one of those pastries at a time."

Penn gave her a sweet smile and turned back to the menu, wanting to choose his next words carefully. "I'm really sorry, Ellen. I didn't know."

"Of course you didn't. I wouldn't expect you to know. It's okay. He was a Marine. He died in Afghanistan."

"You seem really together over the whole thing. I don't how I'd carry on if I lost someone...like that. I mean, that way."

"You do what you have to," she sighed. "The rest is out of your hands."

"Don't let this big man frame fool you. Underneath I'm probably a bigger pile of mush than most women."

"So it's all a tough guy act?" she asked with a wink.

Ellen's comment caught Penn off guard and he could feel the blood rush to his face and naked head. "I'm tough," he said quietly. "I'm just soft...inside."

"Hmmm, a big softy who could kick someone's ass."

He ignored, yet smiled at her remark and escorted her to a table in the corner by a window. He wanted to point out interesting happenings on the street in case he found himself with a lack of words in Ellen's presence. Her natural beauty was only eclipsed by her effortless charm.

"Ever notice how people seem so unhappy in the winter?" Penn mused, watching the bustle outside.

"It's the weather. Not enough sunlight. But at the same time, how can you appreciate the spring if you never suffer through the winter?"

Penn nodded, agreeing with her profound statement. "True. Which explains why the people in L.A. are nuts. Sunny and seventy-two every day can't be good for you in the long run."

Ellen laughed and Penn watched her fidget in her seat. He worried that maybe he was talking too much and decided to focus on her. "What do you design? Ads? Billboards? Multimedia campaigns?"

"Yes."

He didn't know if she was a woman of few words or if she was suddenly bored.

"I've always thought it would be fun to do ad campaigns," Penn admitted.

"It's not as glamorous as you might think – long hours, cranky clients not knowing what they want. You take a shot in the dark, choose a direction and make a presentation. At that point they still don't know what they want. But they don't want what you've shown them."

"Sounds frustrating. I get the clients who want to know why they aren't getting better when they don't follow orders. Sometimes I want to shout, 'Get off the damn couch!'"

She nodded and took another sip of her black tea and stared out the window. Penn knew he shouldn't keep her, but he didn't want to let her go.

"I guess every job has its frustrations," Ellen added.

"Unless you're a yoga instructor. I mean that's just centering all day long. If I remained that relaxed and into my chi? I'd go into a coma."

"Still funny," Ellen giggled from across the table.

Penn's face lit up again at her compliment. He wanted to keep making her laugh all night. She was even more beautiful when she smiled.

"I should probably get going. Thanks for the tea," she said as she slung her bag and mat over her shoulder.

"Anytime," Penn smiled as he rose to his feet to meet her. "May I see you again on Wednesday?"

Ellen dropped her head for only a moment and paused, "I'll be in class again on Wednesday if that's what you mean."

"That's exactly what I meant."

He took Ellen's hand in his and gave it a friendly shake. It was soft and strong. Feeling her skin gave Penn a charge as he carefully slipped his fingers from hers.

"Thanks again," she smiled.

He lingered close to her warm body without touching her. "My pleasure. See you Wednesday."

Penn watched and Ellen gave him a fleeting glance as she pushed open the glass door. He leaned back in the chair, causing it to moan, crossed his arms over his chest and gave her a wink.

Ellen looked back at Penn through the glass window and pulled her coat tightly around her neck as a warm feeling flooded her face. Ellen Temple was blushing. Something she hadn't done in years.

## Friday, January 10th

Lexi Scott rushed after class to get to her dorm. She wanted to have time to change from her school clothes and into something more appropriate for the concert she was attending.

Lexi loved classical music. Other college girls her age were into rock and roll, rap and the whining of the latest singer/songwriter. It wasn't that she didn't like that type of music, or her men edgy and cool. Lexi was attracted to guys with the ability to play anything with strings. And since her preference was Mozart, it was usually the boys in the symphony who could make her think naughty thoughts. Her fear of commitment always kept her from acting on any of her urges – naughty or otherwise.

Tonight, Lexi was fueling her need for the classics by attending a concert given by the university's highly touted string quartet. Not only was it part of her Classics Music class to attend and write a summary of a performance, she loved the way the music put her into a calm state of mind.

She took a seat all alone, unsuccessful in drafting any of her roommates to join her for the evening.

The crowd consisted of mostly older university patrons who, because of their donation to the music department, were either listed in the program or on the outside of building. University donors never missed an opportunity to see their money at work.

Lexi took a seat in the back of the elegant but small atrium. As the quartet began to play, she closed her eyes and allowed the music to wash over her. It was beautiful, and she didn't need to look at her program to know the piece was Bach's Air.

The quartet finished the first selection to a round of applause and began their second piece. Glancing up, she checked out the musicians a little closer, noticing they were all female with the exception of the cello player. Lexi immediately thought he was handsome.

He had dark hair that was long in a West Coast surfer kind of way. His loose curls were brushed back and away from his face, but still moved as he rhythmically bobbed his head. He was passionate about the notes he played, and the way he carefully cradled the cello while emitting tremendous energy made Lexi think he knew how to hold a girl in his arms.

As the quartet finished, Lexi looked around the room and decided she might be the only one who wasn't asleep, as evidenced by being the first one to stand and applaud.

Cellist, Tom Brooks appreciated the approval of the quartet's performance. He enjoyed taking a bow. It was his favorite part of being a musician – an adoring audience that validated his existence.

As Tom righted himself from his obligatory acknowledgement, he caught Lexi staring through him. He liked her watching him so intently and gave her a sly smile to let her know.

Embarrassed that she'd been caught looking, Lexi glanced down and away, snatching her purse and program from her seat, eager to make a quick exit.

She was expeditious in her path to the ladies room, hoping to freshen up and make a clean getaway from the auditorium. She primped in the mirror, running her hands through her long dark hair and applied lip balm, dabbing her mouth lightly with her middle finger. Pulling her stylish hat over her ears, she glanced at the brown eyes that had made many a boy swoon in the last few years, but none that she was even remotely interested in. In Lexi's experience, college men had been either extremely good looking, smart, self-centered and gay, or extremely good looking, smart, self-centered and an ass. She proclaimed to the world that she didn't have time for love and kept her feelings to herself.

She felt it best not to stray too far from her schoolwork, her job or her goals. Lexi Scott had plans – big ones. And in her mind, nothing and no one was going to stand in her way.

She pushed open the door into the main hallway and looked down to pull her leather gloves on before leaving.

"I'm going to assume you're not a regular patron of the music department. Maybe just a fan of Bach?"

The voice was deep, but the shoes were Nike and Lexi knew they couldn't belong to any of the society crowd she'd spent the last hour with.

She smiled back at the handsome cello player. He'd completely changed his clothes from a tuxedo to jeans, sweater and down coat in the same amount of time Lexi had taken wash her hands, brush her hair and apply Chapstick. He was even more handsome up close and his cello, now packed in a hard case, was casually flung over his shoulder.

"Let me guess," he joked as he began to move in stride alongside her. "Music appreciation class. You've got a paper due. Probably tomorrow."

Lexi was taken by his honesty and his dazzling smile. He'd looked so serious during the concert and she liked that she could be right about him knowing how to hold a girl.

"I'm not that bad," she smirked. "It's due next week."

"That's good news."

"Why is it good news?" Lexi pushed the door open and into the cold wind tunnel created by the buildings on campus.

"Now I know you have time for coffee."

"I do?" Lexi asked with a smile as she pulled her scarf tight around her neck, wincing from the cold. "What if I have somewhere extremely important to be?"

"You might," he conceded. "But I can promise you one thing."

"What's that?"

"You'll get the best grade on your Bach paper if you join me for coffee."

"Well, there's one I've never heard."

"Tom Brooks," he said as he stopped to adjust the cello case on his back and extend his hand.

"Lexi Scott," she replied with a smile.

"Starbucks?"

"Okay," Lexi reluctantly agreed. "But the one on campus. I see enough of the Vine Street shop. I work there."

"See how well this is working out?"

"How's that?" Lexi asked as they began walking to the student center Starbucks.

"I know music, you know Macchiato. Trust me. This is a beautiful thing."

"I don't like guys who say 'trust me'."

"Believe me."

"Believe?"

Tom stopped in his tracks to grab her undivided attention.

He flashed her a huge smile and his brown eyes watered from the cold making them twinkle. "I know a beautiful thing when I see it. Believe me."

The smell of coffee hit them as they walked through the door of the student center Starbucks.

"I've never been to a Starbucks with a barista aficionado such as yourself," Tom joked as he flirt-punched Lexi in the arm throwing her and the cello on his back slightly off balance.

Lexi fidgeted with her phone, knowing she'd soon be getting the call from her roommates wondering where she was. Already a half hour later than she'd promised to meet them at the bar, she didn't seem to care. Tom was adorable. Each time he smiled, his dark eyes sparkled and Lexi could feel butterflies dancing in her stomach. It was a new sensation for her as most hot guys just turned her on. This one made her nervous. She told herself if the night started to go south, she'd let her phone ring and then explain that she needed to meet her roommates.

"What's the best coffee drink not on the menu?" Tom asked as they approached the counter.

"Coffee? Or best drink?"

"Either. I'm game for anything."

Lexi walked to the counter and ordered for the both of them. "Two tall chai cookie lattes please."

"What the heck is a chai cookie latte?" he asked without a beat as he paid for their drinks.

"A chai tea latte with extra chai, hazelnut, java chips, and cinnamon sprinkles," she explained as she turned her attention back to the barista. "Lexi. The name is...I mean Tom. The name is Tom." She corrected herself shooting Tom an uneasy smile.

"Interesting."

"Well, you said you were game. Maybe I should've second guessed your confidence," Lexi teased.

"Oh no. I'm game. I'm just impressed as hell."

Lexi giggled and suddenly found herself staring into his eyes again and wondering who was really behind the cello.

"Speaking of being impressed," Lexi continued as she pointed out a table. "I was quite impressed with your performance tonight. Should I make the assumption you are a music major?"

"Double major. Music and math. What about you?" he asked.

"A double major? Still impressed."

"Don't be. Answer my question. What are you in for? I mean, school is a little like prison."

"In that case, I'm serving concurrent sentences in Comparative Literature and Journalism," she grinned.

Tom took the first sip of his latte and nodded. She had just reaffirmed what he already assumed to be true. Lexi Scott was beautiful and brilliant.

"What do you do with a music and math major after graduation?" she asked. "I'm sure you'll be playing with a symphony somewhere right?"

"Why would you assume that music would be my career path?"

"You're so talented."

"I'm talented in a lot of areas. You just need to get to know me better. Baby, I'm the fire your mother warned you not to play with."

"Really?" she said with disgust. "And here I thought you were so adorable and you had to go and say something smarmy like that to completely turn me off. You just contradicted what I believed was true. I guess artists aren't more sensitive. They're assholes like two-thirds of all the other men in the world."

"I'm sorry," Tom barked. "I was trying to be cool. Something I'm really not. I was trying to impress you. Now I've just fucked everything up."

Disgusted, Lexi rose from her seat and began to storm off in grand style. Then she remembered her drink. She stopped and turned on her heels. She at least wanted the warm drink for her walk home.

Tom dropped his head, angry with himself for the asinine comment. As Lexi reached for her latte, he cupped her fingers and begged her to look at him with the touch of his hand. Slowly their eyes met and she waited for him to speak.

"Don't go. I'm sorry. I think you're funny and smart and beautiful. And this is the best night I've had in a really long time. I spend my days and nights studying math and playing a fucking cello." He dropped his eyes to their hands still touching. "And I'm sorry I said 'fuck' and I'm sorry I said it again trying to apologize for saying it in the first place."

Lexi tried to conceal the smile his apology brought to her face. It occurred to her that maybe Tom Brooks had spent too much time cradling his cello.

Slowly she sat back down at the table and nervously pulled her cup in tight to warm her hands.

"I'm sorry. Really I am," he reiterated. "I'm not that talented in other areas. I'm not cool, don't date that often, not an Adele fan and I'm addicted to The Walking Dead – on Netflix or otherwise. Basically, I'm awkward. If you like awkward, I'm your guy."

"Maybe we should just sit here. Maybe you shouldn't talk so much. It might be better that way," she advised.

Tom locked his mouth with an imaginary key and grinned.

Lexi shook her head and sighed heavily. She couldn't decide if this boy was crazy, brilliant or both.

The silence lingered over them and Lexi began to feel guilty for chastising him. "Okay. Let's talk. But please, choose your words more carefully."

Tom nodded and continued to smile.

"What?" Lexi asked.

"Did I hear you correctly before you called me an asshole? Cause I think you said I was – adorable."

Lexi dropped her head and laughed. "Yes. An adorable asshole."

"I'll take it. Can the adorable asshole please have your number?"

## Tuesday, January 14th

Mike stepped into the large office, tossing his briefcase onto the desk. He walked to the edge of the floor to ceiling windows that encompassed the room and surveyed all that was below. It had been a week since he'd seen her, and although they'd only met briefly, she consumed all his thoughts. How she looked, how she smelled and the smile that made him forget his own name. But he knew her name. Sarah Brooks was the woman who caused him to get up every morning a little early. Caused him to carefully pick his suit for the day. Hell, he'd even started whitening his teeth in hopes that their smiles would at last meet again. And they would. If he could convince clients that he was the man, surely he could convince Sarah Brooks of the same.

"Mike?" The knock on his open door drew him out of his daydream.

"Good morning, Ellen."

"Am I interrupting? You looked pretty deep in thought."

"Have a seat. I need to talk to you."

She held up a post-it note stuck to her index finger. "I gathered that from the note you left me that says, Ellen, I need to talk to you."

"Yeah," he sighed as he sat behind his desk. "How long have we known each other?"

"Eight years maybe?"

"Has it been that long?"

"I've been here five, and I knew you the three years before while I was in art school."

Mike nodded, clearly lost in his own thoughts.

"Am I getting fired or something, Mike?"

"Hell, no," he quipped. "What would make you think that?"

"I don't know. Maybe your behavior?"

"I'm sorry. I am. There's just something..."

"For heaven's sake, Mike. What is it? Are you sick? Has something bad happened?"

"No, nothing like that. Ellen?"

"Yes?"

"You're a woman, right?"

"I like to think so, although having a vagina doesn't stop me from believing that my balls are bigger than most men's."

"I wouldn't dispute that," he laughed, easing back into the comfort zone he'd lost in the past week. "I need some advice."

"I'm all ears."

"There's a woman."

"Thank the Lord," she proclaimed as she looked to the ceiling and held her arms to the sky.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You mean other than knowing whether you're gay or straight?"

"What?" Mike gasped.

"C'mon, Mike. You had to know people have been talking for years. A smart, handsome, successful guy who doesn't have a woman?"

"I've had women."

"Not very many."

I've had women, Ellen. I haven't had a relationship. I haven't had time for it," he snapped.

"I think we both know that's a big fat lie," she smirked.

"You haven't exactly been out there looking either."

"That's different," Ellen mumbled, dropping her head with her voice.

"I'm sorry," Mike apologized. "I had no right to say that."

"Yeah, well, my husband's only been dead two years. I'm a war widow. What's your excuse?"

"I said I'm sorry. You know me – my asshole talks before my mouth. Which is why I need your help."

"What's her name?" Ellen sighed, rolling her eyes.

"Sarah Brooks. She's a violinist with the symphony."

"Where'd you meet her?"

"Starbucks. I've basically been stalking her for over a year."

"Are you serious?"

Mike could tell by the tone of Ellen's voice that she was both concerned and amused. "Yes, I'm serious. I'm a seriously screwed up individual."

"What do you think I can do about it?"

"I need help."

"Clearly," Ellen sighed.

"I'm so overwhelmed by this woman. I get excited at the very thought of seeing her. When I am around her, my mouth dries up and any intelligent thought I have goes right out of my head. I'm dumbstruck," he continued as he rose from his chair and began to nervously pace the room. "I'm awestruck. I'm bewildered. I'm a total idiot."

"Well, at least you've got a theme rolling here."

Her joke fell on the quiet room.

"C'mon," Ellen teased. "You're Mike Montgomery. You're the design mogul featured in magazines and newspaper articles. You're not a total idiot."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," he sighed as he sat back in his chair.

"Hey, you have my vote. I've seen you sell clients on our company that I thought would never use a design team. I'm just wondering why you can't sell yourself to this violin playing woman."

"Sarah," he quickly corrected. "Her name is Sarah. And I suppose it's because I don't know... women."

"Mike, do you believe in love?"

"I believe in the possibility. And for a long time, that was enough. But it isn't anymore. And now I'm realizing that maybe I don't know how to love."

"Love isn't what you know, Mike. It's what you feel. Love's about how someone touches your soul. You should be a better person when you're with that someone. You don't want to be better, you just are. So..."

"So what?" he quipped.

"So how do you feel?"

"I have an idea," Mike blurted.

"What? Are we still on the 'I'm in love with the violin playing woman and don't know what to do about it' subject?" she asked as she raised an eyebrow.

"I want to leave her a message. One that she won't be able to forget."

"In English, Mike," Ellen smiled with sarcasm.

"I know a lot about her already. She's got a concert coming up – a concert that features her. I'm going. And since I can't seem to make sense when I try to engage her in conversation, I want to engage her in another way. I want to leave her a message," he explained, his eyes twinkling with ideas.

"Engage? Is that a Freudian slip?" she taunted.

Mike stared through her, and Ellen stopped smiling. "You want to write her a note?"

"No," he replied. "Just like you said. I want to touch her soul."

## Wednesday, January 22nd

Penn hustled through his last two patients at the free clinic where he spent part of each Wednesday. He couldn't help out as much as he wanted to due to his own overbooked practice, but he enjoyed helping the patients who couldn't get to an office like his, let alone pay.

As he checked and stretched the last patient's shoulder, all he could think about was getting to yoga. He'd spent the last two weeks dreaming of Ellen Temple.

He'd looked her up, and she had at least friended him on Facebook, which he considered a minor victory. He wanted her to know he was a harmless man – albeit one that was crazy for her.

He rushed into the yoga studio and peeked into the room to make sure she was there for class. No Ellen. He dropped his head and went into the men's locker room to change from his work clothes and into shorts for the much needed workout. He decided in the time it took him to change and store his stuff that he'd use the class time to clear his head, but as he walked into the studio, there she stood.

Penn's breath hitched as Ellen smiled at him. He was elated to see her face. He'd stared at her photos online so many times in the last week that she almost didn't look real to him.

He took his place closer to the front. He didn't want Ellen to think he was eyeing her great ass, and he didn't trust himself. He knew he'd be eyeing her great ass.

During class they both tried to focus on their own energy, but as they caught each other's glances throughout the hour, it was clear, even to the instructor, that they were making more than just a connection with their own bodies and minds. They were completely into each other.

As yoga ended, Penn picked up his bag and walked to Ellen as casually as he was capable. He'd never been the kind of guy who was good at hiding his feelings and Ellen made him smile uncontrollably. "How are you?"

"I'm good," she sighed, wiping the sweat from her brow with a towel. "How are you?"

"Look," he hesitated. "I'm not very good at this sort of thing. I just want to get to know you and I was wondering if you might want to get together sometime. I mean outside of yoga. I mean outside of after yoga."

Ellen blushed and looked away to pick up her bag. "I don't know what to say."

"You could say, 'Sure Penn. I'd love to.'"

She laughed and gave her shoulders a slight shrug. "I think you're a really nice guy, Penn. I just don't know if I'm ready."

"Are you using the ole, it's not you it's me line?"

"The reality is that it is me. It's not you."

"You can't fault me for trying, right?"

"I can't fault you at all," she smiled sweetly.

"How about a smoothie? Just between friends. I know a place just down the street."

Ellen took a deep breath. She knew herself well – well enough to know she liked Penn. He was sweet, strong and handsome. He just wasn't her late husband. But no one ever would be.

"Sure," Ellen agreed. "Lead the way."

Penn took the bag from her shoulder and placed it over his. "I know you like to carry your own stuff, but just for tonight, let me."

She nodded and for the first time since becoming a widow, Ellen Temple allowed someone else to carry her heavy load.

"How's the design business these days?" Penn asked, keeping up the conversation.

"It's been busy. I've been working with Mike on the side, and that's been taking up some of my time. A little Valentine's Day project."

"Something for a client?"

"Not really."

"Should I even ask?"

Ellen shook her head and Penn didn't pry. But since she'd brought up the subject of Valentine's Day, he wasn't going to let the opportunity to slip away.

"Valentine's Day."

"Yes," she replied as they stepped into the Jamba Juice. "That useless holiday made up by greeting card companies, florists and candy makers."

"Wow, a cynic," Penn laughed.

"No. Just a realist."

"What? Don't you believe in love?"

"I believe in love, but I'm not looking for love."

"Just because you're not looking doesn't mean it won't find you."

Penn watched her shoulders shrug and sensed her uneasiness, but didn't want to let the subject go. "You need to open up your fourth chakra," he smiled, trying to make a joke as he ordered two protein berry workout smoothies from the menu.

"Yeah, so I've been told. Didn't you want to ask me what kind of smoothie I wanted?"

"I'm a mind reader. Was I right?"

"Yes."

Penn smiled, thinking of the Facebook post from six months ago where Ellen sang the praises of the exact smoothie he'd ordered. Tonight his stalking was paying off.

"C'mon. Let's get your smoothie and then you can tell me all about the marketing cynicism surrounding Valentine's Day. And I'll tell you why it's a wonderful day."

"God, you're cheerful. It's almost annoying how positive you are about everything."

"Why suffer more than I have to? Sure, life sucks sometimes, but it's never too late to live happily ever after."

"What did you say?"

"I'm saying, I'm thankful for my life and the people in it. Like right now, I'm thankful for you."

"Me?"

"What man wouldn't be thankful for the company of a beautiful and intelligent woman?"

Ellen had never been the type of girl who fell for lines. Over the years, she'd finely honed her bullshit meter. The world was full of men with witty and flattering pick up's, and there were plenty of men who'd fallen out of Ellen's favor trying to use them – even if they were just friends. She trusted her instincts, and if she smelled bullshit, she was done.

She led the way to a tiny corner table and thought about everything Penn had just said. She felt he was sincere, but more than that, Ellen was disconcerted how easily he saw through her.

As they sat down, a homeless man approached them with a dirty, outstretched hand. "Can you spare some change so I can get something to eat?"

Penn immediately rose to his feet and put a hand on the older man's shoulder. "C'mon, let's get you a sandwich," he replied without missing a beat. "Ellen, I'll be right back. Save my spot."

Ellen studied Penn's face closely, looking for flaws–looking for anything that might show her that he wasn't real. But as he glanced over his shoulder while waiting in line and chatting up the hungry man, he met her gaze and gave her a huge smile. She knew in that moment he was authentic. A real man with a big heart.

He returned to the table with a grin and she smiled back at him with a new feeling she couldn't place.

"That was very kind of you."

"Everyone needs a leg up from time to time. Even if they don't ask for it."

"You just made his night," she said softly as she looked Penn in the eye. What she really meant was, you just made my night.

## Saturday, January 25th

Mike had waited all week for this night. He'd barely been able to make it through the day knowing he was going to hear Sarah perform. He'd bought his ticket, a new suit and three dozen roses. The ticket was in the top pocket of his new Armani jacket, and the roses were being delivered precisely at 7:30 to her dressing room – one half hour before the performance. Mike had carefully researched the meanings of roses, and the purple sterling meant love at first sight. He couldn't think of a better way to describe his feelings for the lovely Sarah Brooks.

He knew from the show's billing that she would be playing Sérénade Mélancolique in B flat minor Op. 26. along with other Tchaikovsky selections. He'd found the pieces on iTunes and had listened to them incessantly. At one point he questioned his own obsession with her, but then told himself he obsessed equally over any other so-called project he undertook. When it came to Sarah, he could rationalize almost anything away.

When Sarah Brooks rushed into her dressing room, she was late as usual. She had a reputation for being a genius with her Stradivarius but a little spacey with her time management. As she tossed her coat and dress bag containing a black Gucci gown on the couch, she was overwhelmed by the display of purple roses gracing her dressing table. Three dozen, in fact. Lying alone with a single rose was a card.

I love you in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

There was no signature. No name.

Already late, she dressed quickly and applied red lipstick. Her long blonde hair had been carefully pinned into a french twist for the performance and her blue eyes were showcased by the long eyelashes she wore for stage.

Since her admirer didn't have the balls to sign the card, she decided that if he were in the audience for the performance, she'd give him a little taste of his own medicine. Sarah Brooks was always game for a little fun, and the idea of taking charge of this clear advance made her smile.

In the wings she could hear the orchestra tuning. Sarah took the stage in her sweeping black gown as the maestro followed. Their entrance caused a roar of applause and Sarah took a bow, taking in the accolades. She quickly shook the hand of the concertmaster and maestro before acknowledging the audience yet again.

Sarah took her place front and center. In her hands she carried three things: her bow, her Stradivarius and a single purple rose, which she dropped at her feet.

Mike was undone. He felt dizzy as his eyes transfixed on Sarah and his rose on stage. She began to play and his soul opened up.

The first piece was amazingly expressive and beautiful and as her violin wept with the melancholy notes, Mike welled up and felt as if he might cry. He had no idea what was coming over him. She made him feel wild and out of control. Something Mike had never been. With each stroke of her bow, he fantasized Sarah was playing for him and him alone.

When she finished the last piece, she took a bow to a standing ovation.

Mike stood with the adoring crowd and shouted, "Brava!" as loud as he could, holding back the urge to rush the stage. He had worked hard for everything he'd ever had in his life. He wasn't afraid of working just as hard to win Sarah's love.

The adoring crowd refused to subside and Mike looked around him, realizing everyone was as in awe of her as he was. When she finally took her last bow, Sarah picked up the rose and tossed it into the audience to an even bigger roar of applause. An older woman, two rows ahead of Mike, intercepted the flower as it flew through the air. Mike thought it would've been damn poetic if he'd caught it.

Before she left the stage, he felt as if their eyes met briefly, but in the roar of the crowd it was hard to tell if she saw anyone.

Sarah was exhausted and flattered by the response she received from the symphony patrons. She took her last bow and blew a kiss to the audience, making her way off the stage.

She retired to her dressing room, barely having a moment to catch her breath before hearing the knock at her door. At first she thought it could be the man between the shadows and her soul. She gave the flowers a fleeting glance and casually replied, "The door's open."

"Great job tonight, Sis," Tom cheered as he rushed into Sarah's dressing room and closed the door to the stream of people walking the hall.

Although Sarah and Tom Brooks were siblings, they didn't look alike in the least. Sarah favored their fair Germanic father, while Tom took after their Italian mom. They did however share the same quirky sense of humor, work ethic, and prodigious musical ability.

"Thanks," she smiled, rising from her chair to give him a hug. "Did the parents send you tonight?"

"Um, no."

"It's okay, Tom. I know they wanted to be here. You, on the other hand," she teased, poking him in the ribs, "probably had a kegger to attend and instead dressed up and came to watch your big sister play Tchaikovsky."

"No kegger, but I did meet an amazing girl."

"I need details," she said as she gave him her undivided attention.

"Brown hair, brown eyes, double major, Comparative Literature and Journalism."

"And?" Sarah urged him to continue.

"I dunno. There's something about her. It's like she makes me feel comfortable to just be me. She works at the Starbucks on Vine."

"Really? That's my Starbucks. Well, when I can get my butt out of bed in time to get coffee before rehearsal." Sarah sank back into the chair at her dressing table, exhausted from the performance.

"Check her out next time you're in there. Put in a good word for me. This girl is really something," Tom smiled.

"I'll tell her not to break my little brother's heart."

"What the hell is all this?" Tom asked, noticing the flowers on her dressing table.

"Ahhhh..." Sarah hesitated. "Those would be purple roses from a secret admirer."

"You're joking, right?"

"Actually, I'm not," she mumbled. "You can read the card if you like."

"I love you in secret, between the shadow and the soul. Damned if I know what that means," he smirked.

Sarah shrugged as if she didn't know or care, but secretly she loved the idea of someone watching and loving her from afar.

"Wait. You took a rose on stage with you tonight. Do you think he was here?"

"I dunno," Sarah quipped concealing a smile.

"You love this romantic shit."

"So what if I do? You could learn a few things from this man."

"Is having a secret admirer on your bucket list or something?"

"God, no. Anyway, I don't have a bucket list," Sarah admitted.

"Me neither. But I have a pretty extensive fuck it list."

"Seriously, Tom?"

"What if he's creepy, Sarah?" he asked, not wanting to address his last comment. "What if he's dangerous?"

"You worry too much. This is just a nice person being nice to me."

"This dude's more than nice. He's professing his love for you. Do you have any idea who it is?"

Sarah shook her head and looked away. The truth was, Sarah Brooks had never been in love. She could never get the hang of it. In her opinion, men needed to be stroked – and often. With a string of businessmen, musicians, composers and artists on her list – she could never get serious with anyone. Her career came first and her violin always won the battle for her attention. It was something even the most self-assured man had trouble reconciling in his head and ego.

And sex? For Sarah, great sex was like a unicorn, a Louis Vuitton sale or February thirtieth. It didn't exist. When the occasion did arise, she had to remind herself to fake a good orgasm, choosing loud vowel sounds like aye, eee, oh and the popular ooh.

"Are you going to find out who sent them?"

"How would I do that?"

Tom examined the card carefully looking for the florist's name. "Nothing on the card. Maybe someone saw who delivered them. Ask Ben. He loves you. In fact, they could be from him."

"I highly doubt the security guard is sending me roses," Sarah replied, thinking of the man who'd always been a good friend and treated her more like a little sister. "I'm not going to that much trouble to figure it out, Tom. Anyway, I'll leave them here tonight and get them Monday when I come back for rehearsal."

"I'm just saying you should find out who this guy is."

"Why do you care so much?"

"I care because I worry about my dizzy blonde sister who has tons of talent and no common sense...and no boyfriend."

"Wow," Sarah cried. "That wasn't very nice."

"But was it true?"

"Get out, Tom," she laughed pushing her little brother away then pulling him in for a tight hug. "Thanks for coming."

"I wouldn't have missed it. You played the shit out of Tchaikovsky."

"Thank you. No one can deliver a compliment quite like you. Now go. It's still Saturday night. Go have fun."

"Oh, by the way, have you seen the billboard outside the concert hall?" Tom asked with a huge grin.

"No," she replied. "Why?"

"Well, I'd tell you not to get a big head, but I think it's too late."

"Huh?"

Tom kissed his sister on the cheek. "There's no way your head could be any bigger than they made it on that billboard."

"Get out," Sarah laughed as the door closed behind him.

The roses filled the air with a sweet smell and she breathed in deeply as she reached behind to unzip her gown and go home. Before dropping the dress to the floor, she paused, placing her hands on the table, releasing the tension in her shoulders along with the air in her lungs.

"Bravo, Sarah," she breathed to her reflection. "Alone. Again."

## Monday, January 27th

Lexi pulled the early Monday morning shift, as was her usual. She'd had an interesting weekend consisting of one party with her roommates and three very sweet and funny texts from Tom Brooks. She'd decided it was going to become increasingly hard to turn down his requests for her time and attention.

"Good morning, Lex," Mike sang as he rushed through the front door. "How was your weekend?"

"Good morning, Mike." Lexi shook her head at the man's usual gruff attitude turned blissful. "What can I get started for you?"

"A new life. Today I'm starting a new life."

"Does the new life include your usual café breve?"

Lexi picked up a cup and began to write Mike's order on the outside with her Sharpie as he stood smiling like a kid on Christmas.

"Are you gonna fill me in on this new lease you have on life?"

Mike paused at Lexi's question, almost bursting inside to tell her about his weekend. He paced the floor of the coffee shop going over the newest plans he'd made for Sarah. This morning, his courier would be delivering to the rehearsal hall another purple rose, along with his note – his very classical note.

Mike didn't know much about music but he had a favorite classical composer – Beethoven. He was passionate and Mike hoped aligning himself with the virtuoso who'd written many musical pieces and letters in honor of the women he loved, would peak Sarah's interest – at least until he had the nerve to come forward.

"Mike?" Lexi asked, breaking his train of thought. "Are you gonna fill me in?"

"Not today," Mike replied.

"Does this have anything to do with Sarah Brooks?"

Mike's mouth turned up, forming a sneaky grin that in turn lit up his face.

"You're really surprising, you know?"

"Am I?"

"Here's your coffee, Mr. Montgomery. Mr. Sneaky Montgomery," she smiled. "You know, you could just wait for her. Speak with her. She just might come in this morning."

"I'm not ready."

"Okay then. You better be on your way. Have a good one," Lexi laughed.

Mike nodded and took a deep breath, knowing he was continuing down a slightly scary path with his heart – at least for him. He took his coffee from the pick up counter and walked to the door, giving Lexi a nod as he went outside into the cold. All he could do now was pray.

"Mike, you left your gloves!" Lexi shouted after him.

But he couldn't hear her, and more than that, he could've cared less about the cold. He was fired up on the inside.

Sarah Brooks woke early. The room was filled with the amazing scent of purple roses now gracing the large dresser in her bedroom. Ben the security manager had sent the flowers to her apartment late Saturday evening without asking. She was happy to have all three dozen home with her. Still a little giddy from her secret admirer's gesture, she rolled over with a smile on her face and began to plan her Monday.

If she got up now, she'd have time to get coffee before making her way to rehearsal. It was time for her to begin work on a new concert and the symphony had made sure everyone knew she would be performing this season by plastering a huge billboard of her face near the concert hall.

Beethoven's Violin Concerto in D major Op. 61 was next on the calendar. It was a difficult piece, but one of her favorites and definitely her favorite composer. Beethoven spoke to her heart like no other – always had.

She showered, dressed and donned her heavy winter coat. It was seven a.m. and she knew if she hurried she could stop at Starbucks and still have plenty of time to spare.

As she strolled the streets from her downtown apartment, the sun was thinking of joining her and she loved the colors painted in the sky. When Sarah walked through the doors of Starbucks, she was met with a smiling face. She was oblivious to the fact she was being watched from across the street.

"Good morning," Lexi chimed.

"Good morning," Sarah returned her grin. "Tall non fat, no foam latte please."

"Coming right up."

Sarah quickly pulled her iPhone from her coat pocket and scanned her Starbucks app.

"How are you this morning, Miss Brooks?"

"Please, call me Sarah. I'm fine. A little cold but fine. How are you?"

"I'm great. Your coffee will be ready in just a sec."

Sarah nodded, thinking Lexi was adorable.

"Wait," Lexi stopped.

"Is something wrong?"

"No. I just want to ask you something."

"Go for it."

"Are you by any chance related to Tom Brooks?"

"Witty, handsome cello player?" Sarah asked with a wink, recalling her Saturday evening conversation with her little brother.

"That would be the one," Lexi replied, dropping her head in embarrassment.

"Don't break my little brother's heart," Sarah warned with a grin as she pulled her ringing phone from her pocket. "You're just his type."

Sarah walked to the end of the counter, silently thanking the barista as she picked up her coffee and chatted on the phone. She took a seat in the corner to concentrate on her conversation.

Mike Montgomery never thought of himself as a stalker. But as he stood across the street from Starbucks in the cold watching every move Sarah Brooks made, he began to reevaluate that notion.

He took a deep breath, tossed his fresh coffee order in the trash and decided it was time to get his balls out of the imaginary candy-ass purse he carried when it came to Sarah. At long last he would make an outward move to demonstrate his inward longing.

Catching the ring of the bell on the front door, Sarah looked up as she ended her call. A tall, dark, handsome man walked by, giving her a glance and a smile as he went to the counter.

Curious, she watched as the man spoke in hushed tones with Lexi as he ordered his coffee. A little hurt he didn't give her a second look as he turned to pick up his order, Sarah couldn't help but notice they were the only two patrons in the quiet Starbucks.

As he walked to the door he stopped and Sarah looked up at him slowly, starting at his polished black dress shoes all the way up his tailored suit and into his brown eyes.

"Good morning."

"Good morning," she replied with a smile.

"Non-fat, no foam latte. Right?"

"Yes."

"We met a couple of weeks ago."

"Yes," Sarah stuttered as she awkwardly stood, knocking the chair under her feet to the ground. "I remember. Café breve?"

He nodded and gave her a big smile. Sarah thought he was striking in a quiet sort of way. A man who didn't know how handsome he was.

"Allow me," he crooned as he hurried to pick the chair up from the floor.

"Thank you. I'm Sarah, by the way," she said as she twisted her body to meet his face. "Sarah Brooks."

"Nice to meet you again, Sarah," he nodded and extended his hand. "I'm Mike Montgomery."

## Tuesday, January 28th

Lexi pulled her buzzing phone from her back pocket – she only had fifteen minutes left on her shift and then she was off to her ten o'clock class.

TOM: Good morning. It's your favorite adorable asshole. Just thinking about you. Actually thinking about how I can convince you to go to dinner with me.

She smiled. After meeting his sister yesterday morning at the coffee shop she liked Tom even more. He was totally hot but a little unconventional. Lexi had to admit she liked his casual awkwardness as it made him believable. So when she received the text saying, 'I'm thinking about you', Lexi knew he really was thinking about her. That made her smile and her stomach turn in nervous knots. Well that and now she knew, at least according to his sister, she was his type.

Lexi: How do you propose to convince me to go to dinner with you?

Tom: I can think of a myriad of ways to woo you. The question is which one will work?

Lexi: Haha. Gotta run. Need to change before class.

Tom: Which class?

Lex paused, wondering what he could be thinking.

Tom: Just wondering how you did on your music classics paper. That's all.

Lexi: A

Tom: Way to go beautiful. Let's go out and celebrate. What night are you available?

Lexi: Thursday.

Lexi waited for his immediate response. When it didn't come, she became irritated.

Tom: I can't do Thursday. I have a thing.

Lexi: No problem. Guess it's not meant to be.

Tom: Pick another night. Any other night.

Lexi: That was the night I had free.

Tom: How late will you stay out? Do you have to work early Friday?

Lexi: Yup.

Tom: Please pick another night. I have to perform for the music department benefit. It's not something I can get out of.

Lexi: I'll come see you play.

Tom: You want to?

Lexi: Would I say that if I didn't want to?

Tom: I'll leave a ticket for you at Will Call.

Lexi: :)

Lexi smiled as she thought of Tom on her way to class. Once again she'd get the opportunity to watch him hold his cello and make sweet music.

Tom wasn't a lot of things. He wasn't cool or smooth. He wasn't popular or a big man on campus. But he was talented and he was handsome, and he made her heart beat just a little bit faster when he was around. She just hoped she could keep her feelings at bay and wouldn't get hurt. After watching her father walk out on her and her brother, she had no time for that kind of thing.

She was almost to her 10 a.m. class when she saw him. Her first instinct was to shout his name and wave. But just as she began, a blonde ran behind Tom and grabbed him around the shoulders, screaming with delight.

"Tom!" she shouted. "Where have you been? How have you been? I miss you," she whined.

Lexi stood in amazement and quickly ducked behind a tree in front of a classroom building. Feeling a twinge of jealousy, she immediately wanted to know who the clingy, tacky blonde was. And as she watched Tom smile and engage her in conversation, the jealousy turned to envy.

"Hey!" Tom shouted.

"Are you playing this Thursday? Because I'm totally coming," Blondie oozed.

"Yeah, of course."

"Oh my gosh. Like, you are so talented. Like, I can't even. I always tell everyone about you. Like, you might be the most talented, hot musician ever! And you like, play the cello!" she squealed.

Lexi watched in disgust, wondering if the blonde bimbo could possibly fit the word 'like' into the conversation a little more.

"I can't wait. See you then!" she exclaimed as she went on her way.

Lexi watched as Tom shook his head and walked on through the quad to class. She didn't realized how much she cared until she saw Tom with another girl. Another girl plastered all over him.

She waited only a beat and walked on, uttering one word under her breath as she passed the flirty blonde.

"Bitch."

## Wednesday, January 29th

It was time to ask Ellen out on a real date. Penn knew it was a bold move considering how Ellen had told him she wasn't interested in dating any man. Penn decided he would have to make at least two moves for every one Ellen reciprocated. This was a woman that needed to be convinced it was okay to love.

Penn knew his feelings were mostly one-sided. But there were moments when he could see past the walls Ellen had put around her heart and life. And that was all he needed. He didn't need an open invitation, just a glimmer of hope that she might someday feel love again.

"Montgomery Media. May I help you?" asked the strident voice on the phone.

"Ellen Temple's office, please."

"May I tell her who's calling?"

"Penn Scott."

"One moment, Mr. Scott."

Penn fidgeted at his desk. Picking up a ballpoint pen, he began to doodle on his already cartoon covered desk pad to calm his nerves.

"This is Ellen," she sang. Her voice made him weak in the knees and it made him feel a little girlier than he wanted to admit.

"Ellen," he paused. "It's Penn. Penn Scott. From yoga."

"Yes, Penn," she replied. "I know who you are."

"I hope I'm not bothering you."

"Not at all. What's up?"

Her casual nature put Penn immediately at ease and he sank back into his chair and began the monologue he'd practiced earlier in the day. "I have two tickets to a foreign film festival next week. And I thought it might be fun to break out of our usual coffee, water, smoothie routine and actually eat. You know, have dinner..." he paused again, looking for a reaction. "And a movie, of course. Or maybe a couple of movies. It'll all be in French, so I don't know how many subtitles you're willing to read in one sitting. We could eat at a French restaurant. You know, make it a whole French evening... kinda thing."

After he finished Penn held his breath, waiting for a reply.

"You mean with French bread and french fries?" she giggled, enjoying Penn's obvious nervousness.

"Yes, all things French. French toast, French champagne, French kissing." The words came out in overdrive before Penn could put his mouth in reverse.

He dropped his head into his hand and began to rub his cleanly shaven head. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I got excited and was just reeling off anything I could think of that was, you know – French. I was trying to be funny."

He heard Ellen chuckle at his remarks and felt a twinge of comfort.

"Thank you, Penn."

He could hear the smile in her voice, and it made him smile too.

"It's very sweet of you to think of me. But I don't think I'm ready for a date – French or any other kind. I know that probably sounds weird, but I hope you understand."

"Oui," Penn replied solemnly.

The silence hung in the air until he could no longer take it. "Ellen," he began again.

"Yes? I mean, oui?"

"I'm not giving up on you. Someday you'll be ready. And I want to be there when it happens. I want you to give me a chance. But not until you're ready."

"I've never met anyone quite like you, Penn," she breathed.

"Yeah, I'm like that song on your iPod that you always skip but can't bring yourself to delete."

"What?"

"You don't want me right now, but just knowing that someday you might? It's enough."

"That might be the most honest thing anyone has ever said to me."

"You probably think I'm a little nuts. And you'd be right, I suppose."

"I don't believe everything I think," Ellen confessed.

"I hope that's a good thing."

"Oui."

Penn smiled at her ability to continue the French joke through the awkwardness. "I'll let you get back to work. But I mean it. I'm not giving up."

"I appreciate your tenacity. I really do."

"I'll see you soon."

"Au revior, Penn," Ellen rasped.

"Sweet Jesus," he sighed as he adjusted himself in his pants. Her voice was dripping in sex appeal, and Penn's ready body was responding to the call. "Like a dagger to the heart, Elle. Like a dagger to the heart."

The awkward silence hung in the air as Penn waited in vain for a response.

"Ellen?"

"I'm still here," she whispered.

"I thought I'd lost you."

"No, you haven't lost me. See you soon?"

"Definitely."

"Bye."

Ellen hung up the phone unnerved. No one had ever called her Elle except her late husband. Hearing another man say it was both comforting and disconcerting. Eventually she knew she would give in and go out with Penn. But what if she became attached? And what if he left? She didn't know if she could handle that. Ellen Temple had come to a fork in her road and she knew the question she had to ask herself: could she take a chance on someone she wasn't willing to lose?

Penn picked up his coat from the easy chair in his office and walked out the door. It was close enough to lunchtime, and he thought he might be able to catch Lexi at work before she left for class.

As he walked the busy and slush-filled streets, he replayed every Ellen moment he'd had. He cared about her but he wasn't going to be a putz. The problem was, he knew she cared. He saw it in her eyes. He felt it in the way they connected. He knew. He knew that she felt it too. And because of that, he was willing to wait it out.

As he walked into the Starbucks on Vine, his kid sister Lexi was finishing up her morning shift.

"Yo, Lex," he nodded as he walked through the door, grabbing her attention.

"Yo, Penn," she replied. "What're you doing here? Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "I just needed to get out of the office for a few minutes, so I thought I'd walk down here to see you and grab a cup of coffee."

"I know better than that. What's up?" she asked as she took the green Starbucks apron over her head and walked around the counter.

"Lexi?" Suddenly Mike Montgomery was rushing through the front door. "Can I speak with you for a moment?"

"Sure, Mike. Can you hang on for a sec? I need to finish this first," Lexi replied as she held up a single finger and turned back to Penn. "C'mon, big brother. I can tell when something's up. And something is definitely up."

Penn took Lexi by the arm and led her to speak in private. "I've met a girl. An amazing, wonderful woman."

"That's fantastic," Lexi smiled. "But I take it there's a problem."

"She's not ready to date. Ellen. That's her name. She lost her husband in Afghanistan two years ago."

"Does she know your history?"

"No."

"Tell her, Penn. She'll know you've been through something similar. She'll understand you better too."

"I don't want to use my past to be a part of her future. It doesn't seem fair. I want her to like me for who I am, not what I've done or what I've been through."

"You of all people," Lexi protested. "You sat by her side through every diagnosis, every chemo treatment, every horrible shitty moment, all the way to the end without ever leaving her. And you weren't even her husband – just the most amazing boyfriend in the world. You're the best man I know."

Penn knew he and Lexi had handled their father leaving in opposite ways. Lexi tended to close herself off, guarding her heart. Penn, on the other hand, found his healing through doing for others.

"Yeah, well..." he mumbled.

"Seriously? If this woman can't see how magnificent you are, there's something wrong with her."

Penn nodded, dropping his head. "Can I get a coffee to go? I really just needed to walk and clear my head. But my feet led me here," he smirked.

"You got it. I need to change, so tell them what you want and I'll be right back."

Penn wandered to the counter to give the barista his order.

As Lexi turned to leave, she felt a tug at her elbow and turned to find Mike patiently waiting for her.

"I'm sorry to interrupt Lexi. My gloves are still here."

Lexi nodded. "I'm just on my way out, but I'll get them."

"Sure. Yeah. Sorry," Mike whispered.

Mike knew he was a selfish man. But it was never so evident to him as it was in this very moment. In the past couple of weeks all he'd thought about was Sarah Brooks. It never occurred to him that others were obsessing and losing sleep like he was, in an effort to connect with the one person they knew for sure would change their life.

As he looked across the room to see the muscular man with the shaved head rocking on his heels and checking his phone, Mike understood. He'd overheard the words "Ellen" and "Afghanistan" and he knew. It was time to pay it forward.

## Thursday, January 30th

Sarah thought about Mike Montgomery as she walked into the rehearsal hall trying to ignore her fifty-foot face on the billboard. Since meeting him a couple of days ago, she'd discovered, thanks to Google, that he was a brilliant designer with a thriving business.

When they chatted at Starbucks, he'd been a perfectly charming, handsome gentleman – and Sarah was never one to shy away from genuine attention. God knew she got plenty of flattery from people merely wanting something from her due to her status in the music world.

As she passed the main entrance and headed in the side stage door, she dreamed up ways to bump into Mike again. She waited patiently for Ben to buzz her in and ran a couple of scenarios through her mind.

What did she know about this guy that wasn't in his Google information? She knew that her Starbucks was his Starbucks. She also knew that the adorable barista that worked there had a crush on her little brother. Sarah wasn't beyond using Tom to help her gain access to what she wanted.

"Miss Sarah?" Ben gruffed, snapping her from her thoughts.

"What's shakin', Big Ben?" she asked, giving him a wave through the glass.

"You have a delivery, Fancy Pants."

For many years Ben had called Sarah, Fancy Pants. It stemmed from a poor fashion decision on Sarah's part years ago when she casually tried to pull off a loud print stretch pant. From that moment on, to Ben she was Fancy Pants.

"I have a delivery?"

"Yes, ma'am. Came by courier this morning. I had them put it in your usual dressing room," he winked. "I hope that's okay."

"Sure. Thanks, Ben," she shouted over her shoulder as she walked the corridor of the recital hall. "And thanks for sending the flowers to my apartment."

"I got you, Fancy," he shouted after her.

She opened the door to her dressing room and flipped on the lights. The bulbs around the mirror began to glow and she saw it. A single purple rose with an envelope propped against the mirror. She took off her coat, placed her violin case on the chair by the door and took a deep breath.

As Sarah opened the card, she only needed to read the first line before she was stunned enough to sit down.

I can only live, either altogether with you or not at all. Yes, I have determined to wander about for so long far away, until I can fly into your arms and call myself quite at home with you, can send my soul enveloped by yours into the realm of spirits – yes, I regret, it must be. You will get over it all the more as you know my faithfulness to you; never another one can own my heart, never – never.

Sarah knew to whom the words belonged. It was Beethoven's love letter to his Immortal Beloved. She read the familiar words slowly a second time and felt her breathing grow shallow. Someone knew her well. Someone had done their homework. The man between the shadow and her soul wasn't shy about letting her know just how well.

She picked up the flower and gave an extended inhale, filling her lungs with the sweet smell of the gorgeous sterling rose.

Turning the card over, she again looked for any clue as to who her mystery man might be and fantasized about his identity. Tall dark and handsome – or maybe just Mike Montgomery.

Pulling her phone from her pocket, she gave a fleeting thought to calling him. A knock at the door startled her and she put the phone away.

"Sarah, they're ready if you are."

"Yes. Thank you. I'll be right there."

She quickly pulled her head back into reality, knowing whomever she dreamed about couldn't possibly be as spectacular in the flesh as he was on the cards he sent. It just didn't happen.

"You wanted to see me?" Ellen asked as she peeked her head around the corner of Mike's open office door.

"Come in, Ellen. Shut the door."

Ellen rolled her eyes. "Am I on research duty again?"

"This isn't about me," Mike gestured to the seat in front of his desk. "Sit."

Ellen cringed. She didn't have a clue as to what was coming next.

"I crossed paths with someone interesting at Starbucks yesterday."

"Really? Who might that be?"

"Tall, muscular, bald. I guess you could argue that he was a handsome guy. Sound familiar?"

"You met Penn?"

Mike rose from his chair and walked to the window and looked out over the city. "Penn."

Ellen didn't say anything, waiting for Mike to make a comment. But he didn't. He stood with his back to her, continuing to look away.

"What?" Ellen asked, breaking the silence. "I met him at yoga."

"What else do you know about him?" Mike continued, still not turning to look her in the face.

"He's a chiropractor in town."

"Anything else?"

"He's nice?" Ellen asked trying to give the correct answer.

"I think you need to give this guy a chance, Ellen."

"What makes you think he's interested in me?"

"Do you think he's interested in you?"

"Yes."

"Very well then."

"No. No," she repeated standing from her chair. "Not very well then. What do you know that you're not telling me?"

Mike turned to face Ellen's demanding tone. "Does he know your story?"

"You mean does he know I'm a widow?"

Mike didn't say a word. His face did all the talking. Raising his eyebrows, he dropped his head and pursed his lips.

"What do you want me to say, Mike?"

"Nothing, Ellen. I care about you. And I know you've been through a lot. But–"

"But what? Seriously, Mike. Spit it out. We've known each other way too long to beat around the bush."

"I don't think you know this guy's real story. That's all."

"Are you saying there's something wrong with him?"

"I'm saying there's something very right about him, Ellen. I think you should give him a chance."

"Since when are you so interested in my love life?"

"We've known each other way too long to beat around the bush – Ellen. It's time."

"No offense, Mike, but I don't think I should be taking advice on love from a man who hasn't had a real relationship...ever."

The words were true and cut to the very core of him. "Love? Who said anything about love? That's clearly your word. Not mine. And at least I'm finally trying," he replied, refusing to be angry with her for the comment. "I think it's time you tried too. Besides, I care about you too much to see you lonely."

"I'm not lonely, Mike. I'm alone. Those are two completely different things."

"Are they?" Mike asked. "Because I feel like that's the lie I've told myself for years. I'm just trying to save you some alone time. God knows I've seen enough of it."

Ellen walked slowly to the door, turning before leaving. "I'll think about it."

Mike nodded as she left, knowing that someday Ellen would thank him.

After rehearsal, Sarah felt inspired. She'd had a good day working on the new piece and unsure of whether it was the secret admirer or the newfound confidence she had after playing Beethoven, she formulated a plan.

As she walked the city street from the auditorium to her downtown apartment, she decided to take a page from the 'note and purple rose' handbook and leave a message for Mike Montgomery. Just to let him know someone was interested.

She stepped into the coffee shop full of confidence but suddenly second-guessed herself. Worried that he'd think it was too forward, or worse, that he was in a relationship, she sat at the table by the window and thought through her big idea.

Taking her phone from her pocket, she went back to her Google search. He seemed pretty amazing on paper – just like her mystery man.

She waited until the shop was empty to ask for help with her little plan.

"What can I get started for you today?" asked the young man.

"I have an unusual request," Sarah began.

"Tell me," he said with a smile.

"I want to pay for and leave behind a message on a cup for a man that comes here in the morning. Do you work mornings?"

"No, ma'am. I'm usually in the afternoons."

"There's a young girl here. Works mornings. College student, long brown hair, brown eyes?"

"Lexi Scott?"

"Yes," replied Sarah, remembering her name. "Can I leave the cup for her? I think she'll know who to give it to."

"Tell me exactly what you want," he said with a wink. "I'll make it happen."

It was yoga night and Ellen thought about Mike's words of advice as she walked down the street to the familiar studio. She burst through the door and immediately began to look for Penn, secretly hoping they'd have a chance to talk.

Even though she'd turned down his request for her company, she couldn't get the sound of his voice as he called her Elle out of her head. She wanted the chance to be with him again.

After Mike hinted that maybe she didn't really know Penn, she began to second-guess her refusal of his romantic advances. Why wouldn't she try to get to know him? Even if it didn't turn out to be romantic, she would have a new friend. And Ellen knew that really good friends were hard to find. She liked Penn's company and at the very least she'd have someone new to hang out with.

When class began and Penn wasn't to be found, she felt horrible. It was a let down not to see his face, and an even bigger disappointment that she wouldn't have the opportunity to talk with him after class. She wanted to explain herself more. She wanted to tell him why she wasn't ready to date. She wanted to know Penn's story.

Ellen knew Mike was holding something back when he mentioned meeting Penn, but he wouldn't elaborate any further, stating that she needed to talk with him herself.

Ellen struggled with the yoga class, unable to focus and clear her mind for the first time in as long as she could remember. As she finished, she wondered if maybe Penn was taking yoga on a new schedule so their paths wouldn't cross. And then it occurred to her – what if she'd chased him away? What if she never allowed anyone else to love her? Good men like Penn weren't going to stick around time after time while she casually tossed their affections to the side in the name of her scared and empty heart.

As she left class and walked home in the cold by herself, she was cruelly reminded how solitary the hike was. For the past couple of weeks, she'd had Penn to make her laugh, to make her smile. He gave her something to look forward to and she realized she missed his attention.

"It's time," Ellen said to herself as she made the turn to her apartment. She knew she had to change her life course. And she needed to do it soon. If not, she could be lost in a sea of lonely contentment for the rest of her life.

## Thursday, February 6th

As Mike entered the Starbucks at his usual seven fifteen a.m., he was preoccupied with his appointments that day. He had a meeting with the billboard company at ten and two new client presentations. It didn't sound like a busy day, but the stress would make it a ball-buster.

"Good morning," he said, looking up from his phone.

"Good morning, sir," said the young male barista.

"Where's Lexi this morning?"

"She's off today, sir."

"Oh," Mike quipped, surprised and disappointed not to see his favorite coffee girl. "Venti, café breve please."

"And your name, sir?"

"Mike."

"You wouldn't happen to be Mike Montgomery, would you?"

"One and the same," Mike replied. "Why? Are you a design student looking for an internship or something? We don't have any openings right now."

"No, sir. Nothing like that," he smiled. "You can pick your order up at the other counter."

"Thanks," Mike sighed as he held his phone to the scanner to pay for his coffee.

"No, sir. Your coffee's already been paid for this morning."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Yes, sir. You can pick it up at the other counter."

Mike said nothing but raised his eyebrows and gave the young man a half smirk, thinking that maybe it was some sort of promotion they were doing in the store. God knew he'd spent enough time and money in that location, so he didn't bother to ask for an explanation.

"Mike?" he heard the voice call to him at the end of the counter.

"Thanks," he said as he picked up his coffee and noticed it wasn't what he'd requested. "I'm sorry, but I ordered a Venti and this is a Grande."

"Yes, sir, but the note that was left for you was on the Grande cup. I hope that's okay."

"What?" asked Mike as he slid the cardboard sleeve away from the cup to reveal a handwritten message on the side complete with a heart.

I hope you have a wonderful day. P.S. You have a great smile.

Mike read the words and felt all the blood rush to his face, causing his ears to ring. "What is this?" he asked in a whisper.

"A message for you, sir."

"From whom?" Mike asked, not taking his eyes from the words on the side of his coffee.

"I don't know, sir. I only know I was supposed to give it to you if you came in this morning. And again, I apologize it was the wrong size."

"No, no. It's perfectly okay," Mike nervously shifted his weight back and forth. "I'd just like to know who left it for me."

"Sorry. I can't help you with that. It's pretty cool, though. We were all hoping you'd come in this morning."

"Yeah," stumbled Mike. "Thanks."

He took his coffee and began to walk out the door, amazed at what had just happened. He paused only for a moment and then pulled a business card from his jacket pocket. Writing on the back in a flurry of excitement, he wanted his admirer to know he appreciated the gesture:

I'm smiling today because of you. – Mike

All this time he was thinking of his coffee goddess, Sarah, while someone else was thinking of him. He was flattered, but still determined to see his plan for the non-fat no foam goddess through to the end – no matter what might happen.

After tipping the barista handsomely to deliver his business card, Mike quickly made his way to his office and prepared for the day.

Calling the billboard company, he gave specific instructions on the time and date the new board was to be set. He'd had the artwork uploaded and was waiting to hear of any snags in his plan to have it up and finalized for February the fourteenth – Valentine's Day.

Lexi took extra care as she dressed for the university benefit where Tom would be playing tonight. She knew her ticket would be waiting for her as promised, and she wanted to make a statement when Tom saw her after the show.

Hoping to turn not only Tom's head but attract the attention of every heterosexual man in the building, Lexi chose a red bandage dress she'd never had the nerve to wear. Clingy to say the least, it hugged the curves on her small frame and set her girls up on a pedestal. She wanted Tom to really notice her – especially if Blondie was there.

She pulled her hair in a ponytail, exposing the open back of the dress and chose a set of sparkly stud earrings. As she slipped into the tall, sling back nude heels, she lost the nervous knots she'd had earlier in the day thinking about the evening. It was time to give Blondie a run for her money.

The walk to the school auditorium was quick but extremely cold and Lexi was thankful she'd worn her rugged heavy coat, even if it didn't go perfectly with her sexy dress.

Feeling a little like a golden age movie star, she walked through the main doors with confidence and promptly dropped her coat off her shoulders and into her hands at her waist, whisking it around and laying it almost without a sound on the coat check counter. With a smile and a tip, she exchanged her heavy coat for a red plastic chip.

She walked to the Will Call window and pulled her campus ID from her small sparkly bag, carefully slipping it under the glass window separating her from the ticket office.

"Lexi Scott," she said with a smile.

The older man took her ID and held it up to the name on the envelope to ensure it was a match without giving Lexi a second glance, and casually passed them both to her as she felt her phone buzz in her purse.

TOM: Meet me after the show.

LEXI: OK

The lights flashed on and off, signaling for everyone to take their seats. The recital hall was a little more crowded than usual as the concert was on the main stage and not in the small atrium where she first watched Tom perform.

As she walked to her seat, she immediately spied the assertive blonde several rows ahead. Lexi took her seat on the aisle and settled in, trying not to watch Blondie toss her hair and chat with everyone around her. It was difficult, since she was right in her line of sight to Tom.

Lexi could see Tom clearly on the stage and she couldn't tell if he was looking for her or not as he scanned the audience. He smiled and gave a nod and Lexi beamed. Then she noticed Blondie blowing a kiss in Tom's direction and quickly looked away.

As the lights dimmed, her heart sank. Lexi asked herself why was she allowing this girl to ruin her evening. Maybe the smile was for her.

Silence fell in the concert hall and the conductor took the stage. Lexi glanced at her program and saw that they would be playing Chopin's Symphony Fantastique. As the flutes began soft and low, Lexi watched Tom intently. He was so incredibly handsome in his tuxedo. His dark wavy hair moved as he rocked his head back and forth with the shifting of his body. It was beautiful and full of passion and Lexi realized in that moment that Tom was made for this.

Tom Brooks belonged on stage. Watching and listening to him play was proof that God had made a direct line from Lexi's ears to her heart. With each stroke of his bow to the strings, each bob of his head, she was falling. He was handsome, talented, smart and funny. She wasn't going to hold back her feelings any longer. Lexi always said she didn't believe in destiny, but she believed in the unavoidable. Tonight after the concert, she would kiss him and tell him how she really felt. It was unavoidable.

Ellen tossed the keys to her apartment on the table as she picked up the brown paper package she'd tripped over at her door front. It'd been a long grueling day of client presentations, and she was weary from the inside out. Her body was tired and her brain was mush.

On days this like, Mike was the one who would be uptight, but somehow his newfound love of life gave him a more laissez-faire attitude toward work and Ellen had taken the lead at both client meetings. He didn't seem to take any of it too seriously anymore.

Ellen walked to the kitchen where she put down her briefcase and a paper bag that was beginning to leak wonton soup from the bottom. She'd stopped at her favorite Chinese restaurant on the way home knowing she wouldn't cook–she rarely did.

After fixing her soup, grabbing a bottle of water and settling in on the couch, she began to eat and sort through the mail starting with the package. The art department sometimes sent ideas over if they missed her in the office and she assumed this to be the same. It was one of the ways Mike kept everyone "engaged" in their projects.

She opened it revealing a black and white DVD. On the cover, a couple embraced, their lips only a moment away from ecstasy.

She knew in an instant. Tonight was the film festival and she smiled recalling Penn's French kiss comment.

It was a copy of Les Enfants du Paradis – the famous French love story – and a note was stuck to the front: If you won't go to France with me, I'll bring it to you. I'm not giving up. – Penn.

She smiled through the tears pooled in her eyes and whispered aloud, "Don't give up."

Ellen hadn't seen the 1945 film since college, and was anxious to experience it again. She knew it centered around the undying love shared by Baptiste and Garance. To complicate matters, Garance is loved by three other men. The two are separated for years and both become involved in loveless, complicated relationships. Years later, they meet again and are at last together – but only for one night. The story ends as they are separated – neither understanding their fate or the future of their love.

After the three-hour journey, Ellen found herself sniffling as Baptiste is lost and wandering through the crowd and Garance has fled in her carriage unaware she is free from the loveless relationship she's chained herself to.

Ellen blotted the tears from her eyes and took a deep breath. She knew what she had to do. Tomorrow Ellen Temple would start again. Tomorrow she would open her heart to love.

As she went to bed that evening she repeated Penn's words aloud. "It's never too late to live happily ever after."

As the Chopin concert came to a close, Lexi had fallen more deeply for Tom. His talent was such a sexy turn on for her. She now understood why even the ugliest of rock stars ended up with models. Their appeal was their talent and not their physical appearance. Luckily, Tom was a ten in both of those categories. He was perfect.

"Bravo!" Lexi shouted as the maestro turned and recognized his symphony. She clapped as loud as she could and watched Tom take his bow as he'd done the very first night their eyes met. He flashed a smile, and Lexi knew it was for her. The excitement made her giddy and she trembled from the rush she felt in her body.

He gave her a funny whassup nod and a nervous shoulder shrug. Lexi's instinct was to blow him a kiss, but she thought better of it and instead she gave him a single wave and a sexy smile.

Tom picked up his cello and quickly exited the stage. Lexi couldn't wait to tell him how wonderful the concert was – how wonderful in fact, he was.

Her thoughts were quickly jolted back into reality when Blondie began her incessant hair tossing and eyelash batting. She'd weaseled her way out and into the aisle as Tom came from the front to the back where Lexi was waiting in anticipation of a big kiss for her adorable, talented boy.

Tom Brooks had played for thousands of people over the years, but he'd never been as nervous as he was tonight knowing Lexi would be in the audience just for him.

After the performance, he worried how he might react when he finally got to her. The red dress had been a total distraction to him on stage. He'd never been so thankful to have his cello covering the crotch of his tuxedo pants as he was tonight. He couldn't wait to take her in his arms and kiss her. He'd even cleaned his dorm room, bought a bottle of wine and found a candle in the hope she would join him there after the show.

Tom nervously rubbed his forehead as he walked toward Lexi. He was so proud that the beautiful girl in the red dress was there to see him.

"Tom!" Blondie squealed as she threw her arms around him and held on for dear life. "You were so amazing. Like, we all thought so. We've been like, whispering about you all night."

"Thank you," Tom said, trying without success to pull her arms from his neck.

"I want you to meet some people, Tom. This is Chancellor Gains and his wife Patricia."

Tom was anxious to get away, but knew he couldn't be rude. Chancellor Gains controlled the money that came into and out of the music department. "Yes. Very nice to see you again Chancellor – Mrs. Gains," he said, politely acknowledging them while straining to see Lexi's face.

"Tom," continued Blondie. "Come to the chancellor's home for a drink. My parents and I are going. Please come. You were like too amazing for words tonight," she gushed as she wrangled him in for yet another hug.

"I'm sorry. I really can't," Tom said giving his attention back to the chancellor and his wife. "I—."

As Tom looked back down the aisle where Lexi had been waiting for him, he saw nothing. The aisle was clear and the one person he wanted to see was gone.

"Son, we won't take no for an answer," bellowed the chancellor.

"Will you excuse me, sir, for just a moment?" Tom politely asked as he raced through the concert hall in search of Lexi.

As he rushed into the lobby, he scanned the room frantically, looking for the red dress somewhere in the crowd.

"Shit," Tom said aloud as he walked back into the concert hall.

"Won't you join us, Tom?" Blondie pleaded.

"I'm very sorry. I have somewhere I must be tonight," Tom explained. "But thank you so much for coming."

Tom rushed backstage to pick up his coat, cello and most importantly, his phone.

As he called Lexi, he had a sinking feeling that she wasn't going to answer. He saw the hurt look on her face during the entire exchange and it made him feel sick to his stomach.

He called again and voicemail picked up. On the fourth attempt he left her a message. "Lexi, where'd you go? I didn't want to see anyone else but you after the show. I'm sorry I got stopped. I tried to end it quickly and get to you. Please call me back. Please."

He paused leaving an empty space in his message and breathed. "I'm sorry, Lex. You were the most beautiful girl in the theatre tonight. You are the most beautiful girl. Anywhere."

## Friday, February 7th

Sarah found her way to the Starbucks earlier than usual the next day. She walked all the way to the counter before anyone noticed she was there.

"Oh," Lexi jumped. "I'm sorry. I didn't hear you come in."

"No worries. It's really early. I mean, really early."

"Six-thirty," Lexi remarked.

"Damn early," Sarah grimaced, noticing Lexi's usual smile replaced by puffy eyes and lower shoulders. "Is everything okay?"

"What can I get started for you this morning?"

"Non-fat, no foam latte."

"Sure. What size?"

"Tall," Sarah paused. "Are you sure you're okay? Because I sense that you aren't. I'm sensing that you really, really aren't."

"I'm fine," Lexi blurted.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with a man, would it?"

"Why?" Lexi said, clearly fighting back tears. "What do you know?"

"I know a girl whose heart is hurting when I see one. Believe me. I've dated enough losers in my time to spot it a mile away."

"I'm fine."

"Just know we've all been there."

Lexi nodded. "You can pick your coffee up at the other counter."

Sarah smiled. "Oh..." she paused. "Did my coffee cup get delivered, by chance?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

Sarah nervously fidgeted in her heavy winter coat and tugged at the tight scarf around her neck. "I did something really out of character for me. I left a coffee cup with a note on it for a guy named Mike Montgomery. I was just wondering if he got it."

"What?" Lexi stopped. "You left a note for him?"

Sarah kept her head down and glanced up with her eyes, almost ashamed. She couldn't even say the word yes. Instead she nodded like a guilty kid.

"Let me see if there's anything in the back."

Lexi walked into the storeroom filled with more emotions than she was capable of sorting through. She desperately wanted to tell Sarah that her little brother was an ass. A heartbreaking ass. Surely if she did, Sarah would chew him out. That would spark another pity call from Tom, and that was the last thing Lexi wanted.

She fumbled through the notes and information left behind by other baristas. Then she saw it. Mike's business card was pinned to the employee bulletin board with a yellow post-it note that read: For whoever left the coffee note for Mike Montgomery.

She removed the post-it, wondering what Mike would have the guts to write.

I'm smiling today, because of you. – Mike

She brought the business card out of the back room and handed it to Sarah. Lexi was surprised at her wildly beating heart. Even if her perfect evening had come to a crappy end, it was nice to see that someone was finding luck with love.

She watched as Sarah nervously took the card. Her fear quickly turned into a beaming smile as she read the back.

Lexi considered telling Sarah how Mike had asked about her over and over, but then thought it best to let him do his thing. She realized he probably had their relationship planned down to the smallest detail and she would be wise to stay the heck out of the way.

"Thank you," Sarah smiled as she pulled the card into her heart with both hands. "Thank you so much."

Watching Sarah's excitement reminded Lexi of her own last night as she left for Tom's concert. Suddenly she became something she loathed – a blubbering, teary-eyed girl. Still, she managed to hoarsely murmur the words out of her tight throat. "You're welcome."

"Lexi?" Sarah asked as she started to leave. "If I bring something back this afternoon, can you make sure Mike gets it? I mean, if or when he comes in."

"Sure," Lexi nodded. "And don't worry. He'll be in. He's always in."

"Thanks. You know, Tom hit the nail on the head with you."

"What do you mean?" Lexi asked as her heart began to pound.

"He said, 'She's different – really something. And she makes me feel comfortable to be me.' So please, don't break his heart."

Lexi took a deep breath and told herself it was too early in the morning to cry. As the shop began to get busy, she decided she'd listen to Tom's messages on her break. She'd read the apologetic texts, but knew if she heard his voice, she might cave. And she didn't want to be a sucker if he turned out to be a player.

Tom hadn't slept all night worrying about Lexi. For once in his life, he cared about something other than music and school – something other than himself. And now it was all hanging by a thread.

He showered and dressed for class, deciding he needed to be bold. He picked up his backpack and went not to class but straight to the Starbucks on Vine. He prayed that Lexi would be there and that he'd have the courage to say what he needed to say.

It was almost eight a.m. and as he approached the coffee shop. He saw how crowded it was and thought maybe he'd picked the wrong time and place to confront her. But after the trip from campus, he wasn't turning back.

The line was long and winding through the shop, as he'd hit peak coffee hour right on the money. Tom could see Lexi at the counter and knew she hadn't noticed him. How could she? The place was packed.

He watched her intently, hoping if she looked up he would catch her eye. Slowly, he inched his way closer to the front of the line, waiting and carefully observing Lexi. Her every move made him smile. She was beautiful and so kind to every person in line.

"Good morning, how may I help you?" Lexi said as Tom watched her catch his eye and do a double take. She glanced away for only a moment and he knew he'd been busted.

Lexi blushed and shook her head no as if she didn't want to deal with Tom. When their eyes met once again, she gave him the same look, letting him know for sure that whatever reason he'd chosen to come there, she thought it a bad idea.

Tom could tell by the panicked look on her face that she wanted to be as far away from him as possible – and the sooner the better.

He watched as Lexi grabbed another barista by the arm and whispered. Tom knew he had to do something, and fast.

As Lexi began to leave for the back of the shop, Tom walked out of the line and into the crowded table area. Finding an empty seat, he took a deep breath, stood up in the chair and went for it.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he shouted. "Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention for just a moment."

Lexi stopped in her tracks, mortified at what was unfolding.

As the coffee shop came to a quieted halt, Tom took a deep breath and continued. "Ladies and gentlemen," he repeated a third time. "I am crazy about the very lovely barista Lexi, who every day takes your coffee orders and gives you a smile. But last night I screwed up. See, I let another girl come between me and your favorite barista. And my favorite person in the world. I could tell you it was an accident, which it was, or that I've been a mess trying to reach her, which I have, but what I really need your help with is to convince Lexi..." Tom paused as he pointed her out to the crowd. "To give me a chance."

Tom looked around the room and was almost surprised at how he'd truly captured the attention of everyone in the place. Starbucks had come to a complete and utter halt. "I know everyone in here has, at one point or another, been in love. And all I'm asking for is for a little help. Not to convince Lexi to love me," he said, dropping his voice. "Because that's my job. So..." he hesitated, trying to control his shaking voice. "Lexi, will you be my valentine?"

Applause broke out for Tom's sincere and heartfelt plea.

"C'mon, honey," shouted a man in line. "Give the kid a shot."

Lexi walked around the counter as Tom stepped down from his perch and the crowd silenced. As they moved toward each other, the coffee patrons parted to allow them room.

"This doesn't mean you're off the hook," Lexi beamed.

"I wouldn't expect it to," he said as he wrapped her up in his arms to a rousing round of applause and shouts of approval.

Tom pulled away and lovingly brushed the hair from her teary face. Slowly he leaned in and kissed Lexi Scott, making sure she'd never forget him or this moment.

As the crowd dispersed, he whispered in her ear. "Give me another chance. Come hear me play on Valentines Day. I want you to be mine. All mine."

Lexi nodded and quickly buried her face in his chest.

Sarah rushed into rehearsal late and out of breath.

"Nice of you to join us, Miss Brooks," smirked the visiting conductor. Sarah knew he had a reputation for being an ass, and she'd given him every reason to show it this morning.

"My apologies," she lamented. "I needed to make arrangements for some tickets for Friday night's performance."

"Are you ready to get to work now?" he asked.

"Yes," Sarah assured him as the other members of the orchestra looked away, not wanting to be a part of his tirade. They knew all to well what was in store for him in the end.

The conceited maestro's cranky attitude fell away with each beautiful note Sarah played. She knew her work, and she'd been studying and rehearsing this Beethoven piece for as long as she could stroke a bow on strings. When she finished, she knew no one would ask her again if she was 'ready to get to work.'

"Beautiful, Miss Brooks," he conceded.

Sarah merely nodded. Watching him kick himself was way more satisfying than doing it herself. "My apologies again for being tardy. But sometimes life gets in the way," she smiled as she rose from the chair and walked off the stage.

Still gloating on the inside for putting the asshole in his place, she gave Ben a quick wave before ducking into a rehearsal room.

"Hold up, Fancy!" Ben shouted, catching the door. "You got another delivery this morning."

"What?" she asked as she sat down, a little exhausted from peacocking during the Beethoven run through.

"Yes, ma'am. Came by courier this morning."

"It's not..." Sarah asked, sheepishly longing for it to be her admirer yet again.

Ben nodded with a smile, "I've got it up front in my office."

Sarah didn't say a word, but walked past Ben as he quickly lumbered behind her.

When he opened the door to his office, Sarah could smell the flower.

"What kind of rose is that anyway? My office has never smelled so sweet," smiled Ben as he motioned to a small table by the desk where the flower and another envelope sat.

"It's called a sterling rose. Did the same courier deliver it, Ben?" she asked, not taking a breath.

"Yes."

She opened the card and read the note to herself.

Be calm. Only by a calm consideration of our existence can we achieve our purpose to live together – Be calm – love me – today – yesterday – what tearful longings for you – you – you – my life – my all.

When the day of love draws near, look up.

"What?"

"Is something wrong?" Ben asked.

"I'm so confused. He's sending me quotes from Beethoven and then writing, 'When the day of love draws near, look up'."

"Day of love?" Ben questioned. "Do you think he means Friday? Valentine's Day?"

Sarah took a deep breath. "That would make sense. What else could it mean? But I don't understand the 'look up'."

Ben shrugged. "I don't know, Fancy Pants. But every time I look up I see your face on the sign outside."

"The billboard?" Sarah asked. "Yeah, well, no one needs to see that much of me. Besides, the front office told me it was coming down this week. Thank God."

"That's too bad," Ben smiled. "I like seeing your face up there."

"You and my mother," Sarah laughed. "Thanks for getting this to me."

"Let me know when he finally shows up," Ben shouted as she walked away. "He needs the Big Ben stamp of approval."

"I will, Ben. I will."

## Tuesday, February 11th

Ellen hustled to yoga. After Penn's amazing gesture, she couldn't wait to see him. She couldn't wait to tell him she wanted to go out on a real date. She wanted more than a smoothie or a bottled water. She wanted to get dressed up and have an evening with him that didn't include sweat and a yoga mat.

She arrived a little earlier than usual and went to the locker room to change. She'd never been one to fuss with her looks before working out – she left that to the other girls. But tonight she took a little extra time picking out her sports bra and yoga pants for class. She pulled her hair into a messy bun and gave it a little extra love and attention. She wanted to look amazing, but she didn't want to look like she was trying too hard.

She grabbed her mat and walked into the yoga studio, scanning the room for Penn. When she didn't see him, she regarded the time and knew he was always one of the last in the room. But when class began and still no sign of him, she began to panic.

What if he'd changed classes? What if he'd changed classes because of her? Maybe he couldn't take the rejection and decided not to come on her night any longer. But why the DVD to her doorstep and the note he wasn't giving up?

Something was wrong. And when class was painstakingly over, she went straight to the front desk. She wasn't going to be the least bit shy about asking where Penn might be.

"Excuse me," she blurted. "I was looking for someone who usually takes the 6:30 class."

"Yes?" the petite girl behind the counter replied.

"Penn? Penn Scott? It's just that he hasn't been in class the past few times and..."

"Yes?"

"Well, I was just worried about him, that's all. I was wondering if he might be sick or something."

"Sick?" she asked, as if Ellen was really taking up her time. "We've not heard anything about that. But I will say this...,"

"Yes?"

"You're the third or fourth woman asking about him. He must be a hot commodity in that class," she smiled.

"We're just friends," Ellen chimed.

"Yeah, sure," she mumbled. "Such good friends you're asking me where he is."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Nothing."

Ellen walked away. What a little bitch.

When she finished changing to go home, she pulled her phone from her pocket and looked up Penn Scott, Chiropractor. His name and office number appeared with a blue link underneath. Ellen didn't think twice before clicking it and watching her phone dial the number.

"You've reached the office of Dr. Penn Scott..."

As Ellen listened to the message drone on, she decided if Penn no longer came to where she was, she would go to him. "This is Ellen...ah... Moore. Ellen Moore," she continued, using her maiden name to make the appointment. "Please call me back for an available appointment with Dr. Scott. Thank you."

She hung up. There was no turning back now.

Sarah left the concert hall with her rose and note in one hand and Mike Montgomery's business card in the other. She walked into the Starbucks on Vine just as dusk was setting in. As she approached the counter, the familiar young man who'd written on the cup for her was thankfully working again.

"How are you this evening?" he asked before she came into view.

"I'm good, thank you."

"Oh, it's you. I saw the cup had been delivered. I heard he got it okay," he chimed.

"Yes. Thank you very much for making that happen," Sarah said biting her lip, anxious to ask one more favor of the young man.

"What can I get started for you?"

"I have another request," she half-heartedly begged. "I promise this is the last time I'll ask you to do anything."

"Sure," he sighed loudly. "What is it?"

"I just want you to give him this," Sarah said as she pulled an envelope from her pocket. Inside was a ticket to see her play Friday evening and a note. If you're up for a little romance, meet me here Friday night.

"Are you buying his coffee again?"

"I hadn't thought of that. Should I?"

"Nah, it's been done," he said with a smile. "Just so I know what I'm doing and how to pass these instructions along, this is for Mike Montgomery. Right?"

"Yes."

"Do you mind if I ask your name?"

"Sarah Brooks."

"Hey, your face is on the billboard by the concert hall."

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Wow, you're someone famous or something."

"No. Not really."

The barista paused, acknowledging her awkward reply, but quickly recovered. "I'll make it happen."

"Thank you. It's most appreciated," Sarah said as she slipped a twenty into the tip jar and quietly walked away.

## Thursday, February 13th

Mike woke early finally ready to finish what he'd started. He didn't know if it was his secret admirer that gave him the extra confidence to move forward, or if he'd exhausted his options of staying a shadow in Ellen's life. Either way it was going down.

The wheels had been set in motion, and after his meeting with the billboard company there was no turning back. He was either going to dazzle Sarah Brooks or lose her forever.

The courier service delivered her final rose yesterday morning, and his billboard creation was to be installed today and then covered until Friday evening.

He showered, feeling more confident than usual, knowing that he was taking a new step toward being the person he wanted to be. After all, if it didn't work out with Sarah, he could always pursue the girl who liked his smile at the coffee shop.

He hurried out the door of his apartment, pulling the lapels of his topcoat around his neck. Bitterly cold outside, Mike knew his first stop would be for coffee.

It was seven fifteen a.m., his usual time to grace the doors, and he was happily met with a smile from Lexi.

"Good morning, Mr. Montgomery," she chimed with a huge grin on her face. "How are you today?"

"I'm good, Lexi. Since when do you call me Mr. Montgomery?" he laughed.

"Just seemed appropriate. I mean, you really look dapper today."

"Dapper? Lexi, have you been sniffing something other than coffee this morning?"

"No," she grinned. "What would you like? The usual?"

"Yes, please. Tall, café breve."

"I'm on it," she said, as she turned the scanner around to take his card.

"What's got you so chipper this morning? I'm curious."

"Oh, I dunno," Lexi sang. "Here's your coffee. And a little something extra."

Mike stared at the envelope on the counter. "What's this?"

"I guess you'll have to open it to find out."

"What do you know about this, Lexi?" Mike calmly demanded.

Lexi shook her head.

Mike walked to a table by the window and opened the envelope. Inside was a ticket to the symphony orchestra's concert for Friday evening – the night he'd planned on coming clean with Sarah.

He slumped into the chair and wondered how in the world he could've gotten tangled up in something so amazing and complicated.

"Are you okay, Mike?" Lexi asked, still grinning from ear to ear.

"I..." he stuttered. "I don't know what to do."

"About what?"

"Lexi. Do you know who this is?" he asked as he held the note in his hand.

"I wasn't here when it was dropped off," Lexi replied knowing her answer technically wasn't a lie. "Why? What's wrong?"

"She wants me to meet her Friday evening for the symphony."

"What does it say?"

"If you're up for a little romance, meet me here Friday night."

"Okay..." Lexi drawled. "So what's the big deal?"

"I'm already going."

"With whom?"

"No one. I'm going to watch Sarah Brooks. I've got something special planned for her."

"Well, if this woman wants to meet for the concert, and Sarah's playing the concert, you could do both."

"What?"

"Meet her for the concert," Lexi said touching the envelope. "See Sarah after the concert. You can do both."

"Lexi, I don't date. And you're suggesting that I go out with two women in the same night. Can you see how I'm having trouble reconciling that in my head?"

"But if they never meet –"

"How do I keep that from happening?"

"You go to the concert. Watch with one. Say goodnight, and then do your thing with Sarah. Whatever...that might be."

"I don't know."

"Hey, do you want this mystery woman to go away?"

"No."

"Then don't upset her by turning down her invitation. Seriously. You can do this."

Mike rose to his feet in a daze. "I've gotta go, Lexi."

"Don't mess this up, Mike."

Mike shot Lexi a smirk and shook his head. "I'll try not to."

"Good luck."

"I'm gonna need it."

## Friday, February 14th

Ellen left the office early in order to make her chiropractor appointment. She'd tossed and turned all night, wondering if she'd made the right decision to take matters into her own hands with Penn. She was so worked up when she arrived at his office, the receptionist asked her if she was in pain.

Ellen laughed nervously at her observation, replying, "Only the emotional kind."

"I understand," she said as she handed Ellen a clipboard with papers to complete.

As she filled out the forms, she used only her maiden name and the address of the office. When she was finished, she took the clipboard back to the front desk and smiled as she handed over the false information.

"He'll be right with you."

Ellen waited in the lobby and tried to think of what to say when she was face to face with Penn. Nothing was readily coming to mind. And now that she'd roped herself into this scenario, she was stuck.

"Ellen Moore?" the assistant called into the waiting room.

Ellen nodded and rose from her chair slowly. She was so nervous that everything she did seemed to happen in slow motion.

She was placed in a room with an exam table, chairs and one completely disturbing poster of a blue-eyed man without skin. She stared at the diagram thinking even he was going to judge her for what she was about to do.

She sat on the paper-covered table and waited. Ellen could hear Penn's voice in the hallway, and it gave her a rush.

Without warning, Penn burst into the room with tremendous energy. "Good afternoon," he said without looking up from the folder in his hand. "I'm – Jesus..."

"Hi." Ellen gave him a sheepish wave.

Penn was silent. He stared at Ellen and blinked. A tiny smile was trying to make its way across his face, but shock was still in its place.

"Um," Ellen paused, trying to fill the silence. "Jesus? I thought your name was Dr. Penn around here."

"I'm just surprised to see you, that's all," he said, looking back to her chart.

"I used my maiden name. I was afraid you wouldn't want to see me."

"Why wouldn't I want to see you?"

"I don't know."

"What's giving you trouble?"

"I've been having some pain."

"Okay," he said, moving in closer and wrinkling his muscular head, sincerely interested in her ailing body.

"Yeah," Ellen replied softly. "I've had this pain in my chest."

"Show me where," Penn said with concern.

Ellen laid her open palm on her heart and softly patted. "Here. I've had it for a while. I tried meditation, yoga – lots of things. And nothing seemed to work."

Ellen never took her eyes from Penn's loving gaze, as her palm continued to linger over her heart.

"What would you like for me to do?" he asked as he moved within inches of her body.

Ellen slowly moved her hand from her own heart to his, wrapping her arm around his waist and pulling him between her legs as she sat on the exam table.

"Ellen," Penn whispered. "Tell me what you want."

Softly she leaned into him, tilting her face up, gently brushing her lips over his.

He gave in immediately. Dropping the folder to the ground, Penn wrapped his arms around Ellen, tightly embracing her.

As he pulled her close, she kissed him deeply, parting his lips with her tongue.

Penn groaned as their passion began to heat the room and then pulled away.

Smiling, he took her face in his hands, "Where did this come from? Wait. Never mind. I don't care where it came from," he gasped.

"You didn't show up at yoga. So I had to come find you," she whispered. "Where've you been?"

"Teaching a seminar. But if I'd known this would happen, I would've given up yoga months ago."

"Thank goodness you didn't," she sighed between kisses.

He pulled her close to him and kissed her deeply, soulfully and felt his body awaken at her moan.

"So, the French thing worked on you after all," he sighed as he stroked her back with his strong hands.

"No. You worked on me."

"Listen, I know you don't believe in the hearts and flowers holiday, but we're only going to have this room for a few more moments before someone comes looking for me. So I'm asking you now, while I have you captive in my arms."

"Yes?"

"It's Valentine's Day. Elle, be mine."

She smiled and kissed his bald head, leaving a lipstick stain. "Okay."

"Okay?" he nodded.

"Yes," she sighed as she hopped off the table, nearly slipping as she fell back into his arms.

"That was a close one," laughed Ellen as Penn pulled her flush to his muscular body.

"Don't worry, baby. I've got your back."

Tom had left Lexi specific instructions for their evening together. She was to come to the small atrium concert hall where she first saw him play. He'd already given her a ticket for the show. He would play and then they were off for a romantic dinner.

Lexi dressed appropriately. Because she'd already worn red, she chose a soft pink silk dress. It wasn't as sexy as the red dress, but it was beautiful and made her feel soft and pretty. Instead of pulling her hair back, she curled it and let the soft ringlets fall around her shoulders. Lexi knew it would be a smaller audience, and she wanted to be a distraction for him during the concert – again.

She hurried across campus from her dorm and took a deep breath once inside the old building, happy to be out of the snow.

Outside the atrium was empty, with the exception of the older man she immediately recognized from the Will Call window.

Lexi approached him with caution, still looking around for someone, anyone who was there for the concert. "Am I in the right place?" she asked with a giggle of embarrassment.

"I suppose," he replied. "Do you have a ticket for tonight?"

"Yes," she said, pulling the ticket Tom had given her from her purse.

The older man nodded. "You're in the right place. One moment and I'll seat you."

He walked away and picked up a house phone, quickly spoke a few words under his breath and returned to her.

"Let me seat you, my dear," he said as he gave Lexi his arm to escort her into the atrium.

He opened the door and Lexi gasped at the empty hall. There was one lonely chair sitting in the room. On the small pedestal stage sat Tom in his tuxedo. A single light shone on him and romantically lit his handsome face.

The old man ushered her into her seat, giving Tom a nod that all was right in his world.

Lexi remained silent, too amazed at what was happening to say anything that could possibly make sense.

"Good evening, Miss Scott. Tonight I will be playing selections just for you. I want you to know, no matter where I play, no matter whom I'm playing for, no matter who's in the audience, I play only for you. Every time."

"Tom," she whispered.

He nodded and picked up his bow, carefully cradling his cello between his legs and began to play.

It was the most beautiful thing anyone had ever done for her. So beautiful, Lexi couldn't keep the tears from falling. She gently blotted her face with the back of her hand, and Tom continued to play, swaying with the hypnotic sound he created.

Lexi found herself drawn to him as the music rang through the atrium. She needed to be near him. She was ill equipped to stay away. The Rachmaninoff Vocalise was a mere five minutes in length. But to Lexi, it felt like an eternity. She longed to be where his cello was – inside his arms. As he finished the final haunting note, she went to him.

When Tom Brooks opened his eyes, the beautiful Lexi Scott stood directly in front of him.

She batted her tear-filled eyes and whispered one word, "Bravo."

Tom stood and placed his cello in a stand turning to Lexi. "Since I met you, I can think of nothing but you, whether I'm playing or not."

"Kiss me," she whispered. Tom quickly obliged, taking Lexi in his arms, bringing her tightly into his body. He pressed deeper into her gorgeous mouth, refusing to let her out of his tight embrace.

"I have a confession," Lexi whispered as Tom moved to kiss her neck.

"What's that?" he asked, brushing his lips over her collarbone and back to her lips.

"The first time I saw you, I thought that maybe you knew how to hold a girl because of the way you held your cello. It was passionate."

"And now?" he asked, taking her face in his hands as he waited for her answer.

"Now I know for sure."

"Yeah?" he smiled. "Are you saying I'm a passionate, adorable asshole?"

"Passionate and adorable," she smiled.

"And completely in love with you," he added as he sat her down on his lap.

Sliding his knees apart, Lexi dropped between Tom's legs as he pulled her close. "I could play this for the rest of my life," he whispered.

Under protest and emotional duress, Mike decided to do as Lexi had proposed. He would attend the concert and meet the woman who thought he had a wonderful smile, and after explain he had somewhere to be.

He decided it was genius if he stopped to think about it. If the plan to meet Sarah fell apart, he now had a plan B with his mystery girl.

Plan B was something Mike had always prepared for in business. But love was new to him, and even Plan A was a novelty. Regardless, by the end of the evening, he would at the very least have a clear head where the ladies were concerned.

As he walked into the concert hall, he was reminded of the first night he longed for Sarah Brooks.

He walked down the long aisle to the front of the house and found his row. There was only one seat available, and so he double-checked his ticket.

Confirming he was in the correct place, Mike realized no one was meeting him. Unless of course the elderly man in the next seat thought he had a great smile and wanted to be romantically involved.

Mike shook his head in confusion and pulled out the note that accompanied the ticket.

If you're up for a little romance, meet me here Friday night.

He was here. Where was she?

"Mr. Montgomery?" The voice startled Mike.

"Yes?"

"Sir, I have something for you."

Confused, Mike stood to meet the usher, who handed him a single sterling rose boutonniere. "It's for your lapel, sir," the usher explained, motioning to Mike's suit jacket.

"Yes," he mumbled. "Yes, of course."

"This is for you as well, sir."

The usher handed him a small folded note. Mike sank back into his seat on the aisle and opened the small piece of paper.

Mike, I'm playing for you tonight. Meet me after in my dressing room. I've left your name with Ben the guard. He'll be expecting you. – Sarah

Mike's heart began to beat wildly out of control. How had she known? How did she find out? And did he even care?

Mike pinned the boutonniere to his lapel as the maestro took the stage. Directly behind him in a dazzling purple gown that matched the roses he'd sent, was Sarah.

Literally gliding onto the stage to begin the concert, she was met with a roar of applause. She took her bow, shook hands with the maestro and the concertmaster and then stopped to blow a single kiss – directly to Mike.

He felt all the blood rush to his face, as everyone around him turned to see to whom she was dedicating her performance.

The older gentleman sitting next to Mike leaned in and got his attention. "You're a lucky man, son."

"I couldn't agree more, sir" Mike replied, unable to take his eyes from the stage and the dazzling woman who'd stolen his heart.

As Sarah began Beethoven's Violin Concerto in D major, Mike could hardly contain his pride and love for her. In fact, he was barely containing the tears in his eyes.

As hard as it was for him to comprehend, Sarah Brooks was playing for him. Just for him.

The concert passed too quickly. The crowd was quick to its feet applauding her amazing performance. Mike shouted, "Brava!" He smiled at her when she caught his glance and winked at him. Again, everyone around him turned to see to whom she was paying so much attention.

It wasn't something Mike was used to, as he shied away from most publicity. Still, people seemed to know who he was as evidenced by the muffled chitchat he overhead walking up the aisle.

"That's Mike Montgomery."

"Who?"

"You know, the design guy."

He didn't know if it was because he was giddy with confusion, or just flying sky high, but he quickly became lost in the auditorium, and needed help to find Sarah's dressing room.

"Excuse me," he asked the usher who'd delivered the note. "Can you tell me where I can find Ben?"

"I'm happy to escort you there, sir."

"Thank you."

As Mike made the turn down the hallway, the usher leaned into him. "That's Ben. He'll let you backstage."

"Thank you," Mike sighed, becoming more nervous by the second.

"You must be Mike Montgomery," Ben smiled.

"Yes."

"I gotta tell ya, you're a hard man to track."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I watched that billboard go up yesterday morning. My brother-in-law was the foreman for the installation. I had to ask who would go to so much trouble for a valentine. The name on the installation report was yours."

Mike nodded, realizing how Sarah had managed to piece it all together. "And you told Sarah," he said matter of factly.

"No, sir. She told me you were coming back after the show."

"But how?"

"I don't know, son, but you better be makin' tracks to her door. Ladies don't like to be kept waitin'."

"Good point, Ben. Good point."

Mike took a deep breath and knocked.

Just as Sarah opened the door he looked away, suddenly wondering if all of his advances had really worked or if she were simply being nice now that his big finish was no longer a secret.

"Hello, café breve," she smiled. "Come in. That is, if you can make it past this embarrassingly large arrangement of purple roses."

"Good evening," he hesitated, but knew what she wanted to hear. "Non-fat, no foam latte."

"It's nice to see you again," she said as she closed the door.

"Thank you for the ticket. Your performance was...spectacular."

"You're welcome. But I have a sneaking suspicion that even if I hadn't sent you a ticket, you might've found your way to me tonight."

"Yes," Mike said as he looked to his feet.

"Can I just say, this is the most romantic, thoughtful thing...things," she said emphasizing the plural form. "That anyone has ever...ever done for me."

"I find that hard to believe," Mike replied. "You're the most beautiful, talented woman I've ever had the pleasure of meeting. I'm sure many men have vied for your affections."

"You'd be surprised, Mike," she laughed as she walked behind a dressing screen and began to take off her gown.

Mike immediately turned his back, wanting to respect her privacy.

"I'm glad we're going to have this time together to meet properly," Sarah continued. "And not in secret, between the shadow and the soul."

"Yes," Mike whispered.

"Mike?" she said, as she emerged dressed in a sexy, short black cocktail dress. "I'm curious."

"Um hm?" he replied as she walked around his turned back and silently asked him to zip her into the clingy dress. "How did you know that Beethoven was my favorite?"

"I didn't. He's my favorite."

"Really?" she whispered as she turned to face him.

"And the roses. Sterling roses."

"They mean love at first sight," he replied as she moved in a little closer and carefully slipped her feet into her black pumps one at a time.

"How do you think two people could be so well matched and yet never know each other?"

Mike looked into her eyes and spoke without thinking. "I've loved you from the moment I saw you. I used to come to Starbucks every morning praying that you'd be there. I didn't need to talk to you. I just wanted to..."

"Go on...please," she begged taking a tiny step closer to Mike.

"I just wanted to be near you," Mike breathed, matching her advance.

"And now you are," Sarah whispered as took another step.

"Sarah,"

"Yes?"

"If you come any closer to me, I'm not going to be able to control myself. I'm going to kiss you."

Sarah moved in and embraced Mike at the waist. He pulled her close to him and closed his eyes, leaning his forehead to hers with a sigh.

"Mike."

He opened his eyes and found himself staring into the beauty of his dream.

"Don't tease me," she whispered.

Stroking her cheek with the back of his hand, he watched her release her head, giving in to the moment. Gently lifting her chin, he brushed his lips across her mouth, breathing her in. She sighed, and he went deeper. Parting her lips with his tongue, he released the desire he'd guarded so closely for so long. He couldn't get enough, pulling her tightly at the waist to meet his hips.

A moan escaped her mouth and just as she began to melt into his arms, Mike Montgomery dipped Sarah Brooks deep and to the floor, never leaving her beautiful lips. He wanted their kiss to be the best thing that had ever happened to her. He already knew it was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

As he righted her and ensured she was stable, she pulled away from him and smiled.

"Wow," she breathed into his neck, trembling from the ecstasy of the kiss.

"Yeah?" Mike questioned, hoping that the moment he'd waited for was as spectacular for her as it was for him.

"Let's get out of here," Sarah sighed, still undone.

He quickly held her coat open to assist her. "I still have something to show you."

She nodded as she turned to follow him out the stage door.

As Mike laced his fingers into Sarah's, Ben gave them a nod and a smile. She nestled her head tightly into Mike's shoulder and they walked out of the building lost in each other. He held her close in the cold wind, and stopped just as they made it to the sidewalk.

"Look up," he said as he turned Sarah around to face his showpiece now brightly lit with the evening spotlights.

Sarah gazed up to see the huge purple billboard empty except for two words emblazoned on a pink candy conversation heart: Be Mine.

"Sarah," Mike murmured into her neck, a little embarrassed at his own grand gesture. "Will you be my valentine?"

"How did you do this?" she gasped.

"Wait," Mike said in disbelief. "I thought you knew."

"No," she said shaking her head and laughing. "No, I didn't know."

"But you knew I sent the purple roses."

"I didn't," she said as she brushed her red lips over his mouth, pulling away with a sigh. "I wanted it to be you. I loved you into my life."

Kris Calvert is a former copywriter and PR mercenary who after some coaxing began writing romance novels. She loves alliteration, pearls and post-it notes. She's married to the man of her dreams and lives in Lexington, Kentucky. She's Momma to two kids, now in college – one at the University of Kentucky, and one at New York University–Tisch. She is also responsible for one very needy dog. When she's not writing, she's baking cupcakes.

If you'd like to become a part of the Moonlight and Magnolias Team where you'll get advanced copies of books, cool swag and even have input on upcoming novels, drop me a line at kriscalvert.com.

WEBSITE

www.kriscalvert.com

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info@kriscalvert.com

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@_kriscalvert

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NEWSLETTER

<http://goo.gl/izR8bF>
Enjoy this peek at Sex, Lies & Sweet Tea, by Kris Calvert

Book One of the Moonlight and Magnolia Novel Series

Get the book here:

<http://goo.gl/dBj76K>

## PROLOUGE

Big wheels keep on turning. Carry me home to see my kin. Singing songs about the Southland. I miss Alabamy once again. And I think it's a sin, yes.

I rubbed my eyes and stretched, knocking my phone from the nightstand to the bedroom floor. Lynyrd Skynyrd, my wake up tune of choice, continued to play as I drug my sorry ass out of bed, finally snagging the phone to turn it off. It was early in Washington, D.C.– five a.m. early. I'd set the alarm so I could run. My morning ritual, it was usually preceded by a night of drinking and or beguiling ladies. Tossing the phone back to the nightstand, I spied an empty condom wrapper, the small gold package gleaming on the expansive and largely empty floor. Clearly tossed to the ground, devil-may-care, prior to last night's mattress dance, it was evidence of my latest bad decision. Once again, using the wrong head to do my critical thinking, I was now feeling as guilty as sin on a Sunday.

The massive bed filled the empty room. Minimalist was how most described my décor–empty was more accurate. It was a historic three-story brownstone filled with a long history and very little furniture. When I moved in, I filled it with the bachelor basics: a king-sized bed, a huge couch, and a big-ass flat screen. For the past five years, for better or worse, it was my home.

I stood over the bed, eyeing a leggy piece of ass with long blonde hair lying on her stomach. She was wrapped in my expensive dark gray sheets – a gift from my mother in Alabama when I moved here. Her leg and perfectly muscular bottom were exposed, reminding me of our night together. Tara or Tamara, I couldn't remember her name exactly, was an assistant in the office of a prominent senator. Senators and congressmen always hired the hottest babes in the city – it seemed to be an unspoken contest.

I always found it interesting how the old farts in Washington got away with so much. Most of the girls I dated had had a run in, or at the very least, an unwelcome brush with a dirty old politician. I was living in a city of sex and lies. It was, as my late father lovingly called it, the largest gravy train with biscuit wheels in the world.

Honest men were hard to find in Washington. It was one of the reasons beautiful women in D.C. were drawn to guys like me. I was much closer to their age, stayed in shape, didn't need Viagra, or have a saggy ass. And I was clean – in every aspect of the word.

As a seasoned agent for the FBI in the white-collar crime division, I had the unique distinction of being a Harvard-educated Southern gentleman who incidentally packed heat. I had a big brain, a big gun, and big dose of charm I commanded as the occasion dictated. It had always served me well.

I found my boxer briefs in the clothes littered across the bedroom floor – affirmation of our whirlwind shag. Pulling them on, I decided I needed to wake this girl and get her on her way before the sun got too high in the sky. "Good morning, darlin'," I said, stroking her back and rousing her from her comfortable slumber.

"Good morning," her voice cracked as she rolled over and brushed her long blonde mane from her face, exposing her fake and perky breasts. "What time is it?"

"It's way too early," I joked, pulling away and placing my hands on my hips. I paused for a moment feeling horrible for not remembering her name. I smiled at her and rubbed the stubble on my face, still trying to wake up. "I'm gonna run this morning before I shower, but the coffeemaker is on a timer and there should be a fresh pot in the kitchen."

She sat and pulled the sheets up, tucking them under her arms to hold them in place and leaned toward the nightstand to look for her phone. Instead she picked up my ID, examining it before bringing her knees to her chest. "I had a good time last night, Special Agent in Charge McKay W. Callahan III. Jeez, that's a mouthful," she laughed, reading from the small foldout that contained my badge. "McKay?"

"Family name," I sighed as I took it from her and tossed it on the dresser, wondering if she was suffering from a case of whatshisname this morning as well. "I prefer Mac if you don't mind."

"Okay. McKay," she teased.

"Don't make me arrest you this morning," I baited, flashing her a wicked smile. "You're way too pretty to share a detention cell with whatever random transvestite unceremoniously surprised a White House staffer last night."

"That doesn't happen," she laughed, tossing her head back.

"The hell it doesn't, honey."

"Well, I don't remember you reading me my rights last night, but I'm pretty sure neither one of us remained silent."

I smirked and went to find an old t-shirt and shorts in my dresser. She clearly still expected the man who pinned her to the bed last night – but he was gone, and she was the last thing I wanted to deal with at the moment.

"Sweetheart, you're sexy as all get out, but the pavement is callin' my name."

"Maybe I should arrest you." She ignored me and continued twisting her hair around her finger.

"And what would be the charge?" I asked as I pulled my running shoes from the closet.

"With that beast?" she giggled, nodding toward my crotch. "Assault with a deadly weapon."

She was cute as hell and I suddenly remembered her big dick compliments from the night before. Her dirty talk had been impressive. "What would you charge me with?" she cooed.

I played along, not wanting her post-coital flirting to fall on completely deaf and insensitive ears. "Indecent exposure," I joked as I sat on the side of the bed to dress.

"Lewd and lascivious behavior?" she whispered, scooting closer to me and stroking my bare chest.

I chuckled and moved away from her to pull my shirt over my head, leaving an awkward silence in the room.

"Maybe I just wanna be handcuffed," she said, sitting back.

"C'mon now, darlin', didn't anyone ever tell you not to tease a man with a big gun and a set of cuffs? Besides," I began to lie. "The handcuffs only come out for official business and really bad girls, and you, my dear, are a lady." I grabbed my phone and headphones from the nightstand. "Help yourself to anything in the kitchen – if there is anything in the kitchen – and like I said, the coffee should be on."

"I had fun last night, Mac," she cooed softly, looking down and pulling the sheets tightly under her chin.

"Me too," I said, leaning in for a quick peck on her tiny mouth still stained with red lipstick. "Just let yourself out and lock the door behind you," I waved, not giving her a chance to reply.

I leaned against the front of the house to stretch before hitting the pavement. It was March, and still cold as hell in the morning in D.C. I watched the warm mist of air leave my lungs and fog the space between my body and the old brick house. I needed to run. I needed to clear my head. I always questioned myself in the morning, feeling guilty for bedding women I had no intention of ever seeing again.

I plugged my ears and chose my playlist. As Axel Rose poetically sang Welcome to the Jungle, I began my day jogging the streets of another one – Washington, D.C.

## 1

SAMANTHA

"Samantha, you're wrong. You're not even going to hit your sexual peak until your thirties."

It was a comment I had learned to expect from my ninety-eight year old grandmother, who by any stretch of the imagination had lived a full and interesting life.

"Mimi. Really?" I hissed, looking around to see if anyone was within earshot.

I was her favorite granddaughter, and the Peterson family knew it. Actually, I was her favorite – period. I came to visit Mimi every week after a stroke two years ago demanded she have full-time care. Mimi, not wanting to make a fuss, decided to move into the luxurious Autumn Valley Healthcare Center in lieu of staying in the family home with a nurse. She gave the hundred-year-old house she was born in to me and her only great-grandchild, Dax.

"Lower your voice, please," I droned as I surveyed the lush garden that surrounded the facility.

"Aw hell, Sam. These old farts couldn't hear a dump truck driving through a nitroglycerin plant."

I looked around at the residents carefully placed on the perfectly manicured lawn of Autumn Valley. Some of the poor souls seemed as if they were already gone from the real world, but no one had bothered to tell them.

I raised one eyebrow and lowered my voice. "All I meant was I'm okay with being twenty-nine and celibate. And by the way, do I need to remind you that you are one of the oldest residents here?"

"That's what they tell me," she barked as she sat up in the chaise lounge to catch a deeper breath. "But I think a few of these gorkers need to cough up a birth certificate. God knows they're coughin' up everything else."

"Okay, that's enough. Look around you. These are some of the South's finest people."

Well, maybe not finest, but wealthiest for sure. Autumn Valley was a sure sign that money couldn't buy happiness, but it made senior-citizenship seem glamorous.

"Humph!" uttered Mimi. "All I see is a bunch of sick bastards."

I bit my lip at her comment. Southern girls were raised to think whatever they wanted, but to carefully choose the words that came out of their mouths. Mimi, on the other hand, had long given up caring what anyone thought.

"Speaking of sick bastards, have you heard from your parents lately?" Mimi continued.

I loved this woman. She was slight but wielded tremendous and wicked power. Even though she was a proper lady, sometimes she acted like an old broad. She was the only person who'd truly been there for me when I needed sound advice, a good laugh, or a shoulder to cry on – my parents were mostly absent.

"I got a card from their trip to Africa last month," I said, looking away and pretending to admire the rose garden. "Dax and I really haven't seen them since Daniel's funeral."

My mom and dad – what a pair. Both very well mannered and educated physicians who cared deeply for their professions, their many charities, and the social circles that seemed to accompany them. They gave their lives to their work, and their free time to everyone but me – their only child.

"Damn it," muttered Mimi. "I'm sorry, sweetie. It's their loss for not being around you and Dax more."

I'd spent most of my life in boarding schools learning to be a well-bred lady of the South. What I'd ultimately learned was that I didn't want to be anything like my parents.

Mimi was the one who always reminded me what mattered most. She'd held my hand when I sat at the funeral home making arrangements for Daniel – my loving husband. My one and only. She was the one who told me that all Dax needed was one person in his life who truly loved and believed in him, and it was okay to be a single parent.

Mimi leaned in and took my hand, "My sweet Sam."

I could easily forget how fragile she was because of her attitude, but her frail hand and paper-like skin reminded me that she was ninety-eight.

"You are such a beautiful girl. Gorgeous, long brown hair. Perfect figure." She lingered. I knew what was coming next.

"You look a lot like me when I was your age."

"I know, Mimi. I love the old photos of you and Gran."

"I had plenty of suitors in my day, but your Gran was the light of my life for sure."

"I know, I loved him too," I paused. "It sucks when the love of your life is gone."

"Baby girl, it is possible to love more than one man in your life."

"I'm sure it is, but you know what it's like. Daniel was my true love, just like Gran was for you. He was my one and only."

"We'll talk one day, honey," she said, patting my hand. "Not today, but one day. My life is coming to a close, but yours..." She squeezed my hand forcing me to look at her. "...yours is just beginning. I promise, you will love again."

I gave her hand a quick kiss and lied, "I'm not interested in that kind of love anymore. Dax is all I need."

"You look very pretty today, sweetie," sang Mimi, quickly changing the subject. "You're perfection in that blue dress. It matches your eyes."

"Thank you."

"And your pearls. I'm so glad you are wearing them."

I touched them lovingly with my open hand. "Of course."

Mimi had given me a single choker strand of large pearls for my sixteenth birthday. Growing up Southern teaches you plenty, least of all that you never go anywhere without your lipstick or pearls.

"Now," Mimi coaxed, breaking my train of thought. "What time is your interview in the business office?"

"Eleven, but I don't know how I feel about working in an office. It might be a challenge for me," I hesitated. "You know, four walls...re-circulated air...fluorescent lighting."

I hadn't worked since Dax was born three years ago, but with Daniel gone I needed to get out of the house and somehow try to find a new life for myself. My old career as an executive headhunter had always been lucrative. I found it easy to place intelligent folks with companies who were searching for just the right addition to their team. It was kind of like matchmaking–without the sex. I was known as a lioness, always victorious in the hunt, and usually leaving the males behind. But it kept me on the road, and when Dax was born I resigned.

"God knows this place needs help," Mimi chided, dismissing my objections and leaning in closer. "You're smarter than ninety-nine percent of the people working here. I have my suspicions that most of the staff at Autumn Valley are up to no good."

"Now Mimi, don't get all riled up before your afternoon bridge game."

"I know for a fact they killed Ruby Hancock in 3B, and Richard my bingo partner had his teeth stolen just two days ago."

"Well, if I get the job, Mimi, I'll look into it," I leaned in and kissed her on the head. "Try to enjoy this beautiful morning, okay?"

Mimi smirked but then blew me a kiss. I headed into the plantation-like building for my interview, shaking my head at her actions but still admiring her spirit.

I was always amazed when I walked through the doors of Autumn Valley. It wasn't the typical nursing home environment. My heels clacked on the shiny marble floors. The cleaning staff was hard at work in the front entrance polishing the dark and ornate wood that filled the building. A small Hispanic man who seemed to be in charge smiled and nodded to me, acknowledging my presence. "Hola, Señorita," he smiled.

The building had an old world appeal, but retained its charm with the warmth of the staff and the impeccable service to its residents.

Autumn Valley had a long history of catering to wealthy geriatrics who were too old to live by themselves and too ornery to live with their family. I passed the vestibule sign that read Autumn Valley, Senior Living in Luxury. These people had it made: elegant dining rooms, groomed golf courses, pre-dinner cocktails on the veranda, day spas and stretch limousines for trips to the grocery store. We should all have it so easy.

I headed for the door marked Administration Office and was stopped in my tracks by the overwhelming smell of fresh flowers. Since Daniel's funeral, that smell triggered memories I'd just as soon forget. The one exception – lilac. It was my favorite flower, and my signature scent.

I shook my head and put it out of my mind. I needed this job and I wanted this job – for my own sanity, and to be close to Mimi. I opened the door and was greeted immediately.

The office lobby was large and contained several leather chairs and couches, but the overwhelmingly large reception desk was the centerpiece of the area.

"Good morning, Miss Peterson. I'm Stacy Little." Her voice was small, and her head was even smaller. She could barely see over the tall and intricately carved desk.

"I'm Mr. Miller's administrative assistant – but he calls me his secretary, but I prefer administrative assistant, but in the end it probably really doesn't even matter but that's who I am." Stacy gave her entire introduction without taking a breath or leaving her perch. I was dumbstruck by her high-pitched voice and overly excitable nature. To her left a hefty security guard flanked her work area, seemingly all business, but more than likely just hanging out.

"I'm Chuck. Security," he barked. "And I'm leaving."

He sniffed and wiped his nose with a swipe of his hand as he moved toward me.

"Hi, I'm Sam," I explained, deliberately waving and hoping he wasn't coming in for a handshake. "But I guess you already knew that."

"Afternoon, ladies," he mumbled, giving me the once-over before leaving.

Stacy giggled at Chuck's goodbye, and stood to walk around the tall desk. Surprisingly, Stacy wasn't little at all. She was as wide as she was tall and her stockings rubbed together where her thighs met, making a whish, whish, whish sound when she walked.

"Bye-bye now, Chuck," she giggled again. "Welcome, Sam." She focused her attention on me. "Mr. Miller is expecting you."

"I'm here," I laughed nervously.

"That's just dandy," sang James Miller as he stepped out of his office.

James Miller was short, portly, and reminded me of a turtle with his slight hunchback and nonexistent neck. Despite the reality of his thick glasses and sixty-year-old man comb-over, he clearly thought of himself as a handsome devil. Worst of all, he was drenched in cheap aftershave.

"Nice to meet you," I said, extending my hand and giving a firm handshake only to discover he was a man plagued with sweaty palms.

"The pleasure is all mine," Miller chimed, each word dripping with greasy charm. "Won't you join me in my office, Miss Peterson?"

"Of course," I agreed, discreetly wiping the wetness from my hand on the side of my dress.

"Stacy darlin', hold all my calls," Miller oozed, pointing with both hands as if to shoot her. "I'm in a very important meeting with Miss Peterson."

"And Miss Peterson," he drawled, turning his guns on me. "It's the third door on the left."

I walked to his office, hearing the conversation behind me, acutely aware of Miller's eyes on my backside.

"What are you interviewing for again?" Stacy asked.

"New PDC employee."

"You know how I feel about that," Stacy whispered. "You should ask me before you change the way things work around here."

Stacy obviously wore the pantyhose around the office. Miller kowtowed to her, and quickly joined me in his office. "Have a seat, young lady," he gushed as he shut the door and sat behind his enormous desk. "I must tell you...you smell lovely."

The words dripped from his mouth through a thick Southern accent.

"Well, thank you, Mr. Miller."

"Oh please, call me James," he bellowed confidently with a smarmy smile. "Let me be the first to welcome you to Autumn Valley."

I listened to him pitch the virtues of the facility, posturing himself as a strong leader. It was easy to let my mind meander since he hadn't paused to take a breath or to ask me a question. He was a small man who had an office filled with very large things. I could only surmise he was overcompensating for something else that was small. I wondered if he had a sports car parked in the doctors' lot.

"I'm very impressed with your resume, Miss Peterson."

He jabbered on, astonished by my work as an executive recruiter. I waited in vain for a question to come and allowed my mind to wander around his office.

There were three dead animal heads, two conference tables, a signed Bear Bryant football, and too many awards and certificates on the walls to count. This was a man who was really into himself. I bet he had a penis the size of a boiled Georgia peanut.

"So that is the position, Miss Peterson," continued Miller. "Do you think it might be something you would find interesting?" He finally asked a question.

Miller moved from behind his big desk to the credenza where he unsuccessfully half-sat on the top as he waited for my answer.

I knew I would probably regret what I was about to say. "Yes. I would love to work here."

"Well, that's... just... super," he gushed. "Miss Little out front will get you started on your human resource paperwork. I'd really like to see your bright and shining face around here as soon as possible."

I smiled and stood to shake his sweaty hand again. "Yes, of course. I can start tomorrow if that's okay."

"Yes!" Miller bellowed as he stared at my breasts. "That suits me just dandy."

I silently questioned him with my eyes over the attention he was paying to my décolletage. "Beautiful pearls, Miss Peterson," he fawned, knowing he'd been caught. "I quite admire a woman in pearls."

"Yes, well, thank you, and I'll see you tomorrow," I said turning to leave.

Miss Little stopped me on my way out. "You'll need to fill out this packet and bring it back to human resources as soon as possible." She handed me a folder marked Welcome to the Autumn Valley Family and walked away without saying another word.

"Thank you," I replied to her back. "I will."

I wanted to drop by and tell Mimi the good news. She would be excited that I could see her every day, and I was excited knowing I now had somewhere to be every day.

I quickly walked down the corridor to the B wing with new-found enthusiasm. In the distance I heard a scream. I picked up my pace thinking of Mimi.

"What's happening?" I asked the nurse frantically power-walking down the hall. She ignored me. As I got closer, the screaming and shouting grew louder.

"Don't fight me!" Chuck the security guard was trying unsuccessfully to tackle a man I couldn't see to the ground. My first thought, how dare this cad...these are elderly defenseless people.

The power struggle continued, mounting tensions in the hallway. When they turned to face the growing crowd, I caught a glimpse of the culprit and lost the ability to think rationally. Goodness gracious Lord a'mighty. He was beautiful. He looked too good to be bad.

"Code yellow!" Chuck shouted as he tried to bring the man to the floor. "Code yellow for God's sake!" he gasped for breath.

Everyone in the hallway had stopped in their tracks to watch the altercation. Frozen in shock at what was unfolding, the crowd continued to grow.

"You're making a big mistake!" shouted the man. "This is all a misunderstanding! If you'll let go, I'll explain myself."

"I'm not letting go of anything until I get you under control!" shouted Chuck in his face. "Don't make me tase you! Where's my backup?" Chuck shouted down the hall. "For Christ's sake, this is a code yellow!"

One little distraction – it was all the magnificent man needed. He grabbed Chuck by the arm and in one fell swoop laid him out onto the beautiful parquet floor that graced the halls of the B Wing. "Calm down. I'm not going to hurt you," he insisted, coolly placing a knee in Chuck's back. The authority in his voice was incredibly sexy, making me think he'd be hard to disobey.

"I'm sorry I had to do this, but I couldn't let you tase me. My name is Mac Callahan. My mother is a resident at Autumn Valley and I'm lost," he admitted, looking around the hall at the gawking bystanders. "I'm..."

He stopped mid-sentence, catching my gaze. All I could think was a man shouldn't be this beautiful. He stared me down, and I could feel all the blood in my body going two places: my face and my goodie basket. And there hadn't been goodies in my basket in a very long time.

"I need you to calm down," he continued, focusing again on Chuck.

"Fine! Please get off me," Chuck begged.

He helped Chuck to his feet at the precise moment two security guards came to his aid.

"I didn't mean to scare the nice lady in B-22," he explained. "I thought it was my mother's room, Nancy Callahan." I watched intently as he caught his breath and brushed off Chuck's shoulder.

"No, sir," interjected the nurse next to me in the crowd. "Mrs. Callahan is in the D wing. D-22 in fact."

I had to wonder if he would be visiting often. As I told myself he was probably married, he looked my way again and smiled.

"Now it's starting to make some sense," he answered, looking squarely at me yet speaking to her.

The scuffle was over and I knew I should leave, but my feet didn't want to go anywhere. I was entranced and awestruck by the man I now knew as Mac Callahan.

"Chuck," he said, looking back and obviously reading his nametag. "I've been in a few scuffles in my time, and you, my friend, are one strong man."

Chuck puffed out his chest and pulled his sagging pants up over his butt-crack. "Well, I try to keep these folks safe around here, and if a resident starts screaming I'm going in to take somebody down."

"As you should, sir."

"Okay, Callahan, is it?"

"Yes," he agreed, taking another downward glance in my direction. "Mac Callahan, and I'd appreciate it if we could just forget the whole mess," he added, running his hands through his hair.

"Yeah, sure," conceded Chuck. "Just get the room numbers right. Okay?"

"Chuck my man, I can promise you that," he laughed with a smile that lit up the world–maybe the universe.

He was flawless. Man-candy from head to toe. Mac Callahan was perfectly tall and thin, yet visibly muscular under his tailored linen suit. He had an amazing Adam's apple that would glide like sex on a stick every time he laughed and tousled sandy locks that moved when he turned his head. He seemed unaware of his sexual magnitude, or maybe he didn't bother to care. Mother of God and all that's holy, he was hotter than hell and half of Alabama. This man could be perfect. He probably was perfect – unless he was married.

He flashed another smile my way and I buried my nose into the new hire folder in my hands. I couldn't conceal my own grin, let alone look away from his. I was so into this god of a man, I didn't even notice the entire hallway had cleared from the scuffle.

He brushed his pant leg down. Bingo. No wedding ring, but he wore a gold ring on his right hand.

"Hello," he chimed, extending his hand in my direction. "Mac Callahan."

My first instinct was to kiss his hand, like he was the Pope or a king. Instead, I opened my mouth, my brain seemingly unaware of what I was about to say. "Oh...my...stars, yes." The words slipped past my tongue before I could reel them in. "I'm sorry," I blushed and quickly shook his hand. "I didn't say..." I continued, my lips tripping on every syllable. "I mean, I didn't mean to say that. At least not...out loud."

"No," Mac crooned, flashing a killer yet slightly crooked smile, "It's okay. I wouldn't expect anything less from a Southern girl after I've dropped a two hundred fifty pound security officer in the middle of a nursing home."

"Luxury healthcare facility," I corrected, giving him a smile of my own, trying to recoup what little bit of dignity I had left.

"Is that what we're calling it these days?"

"According to our marketing materials, yes."

"Nice," he oozed, walking with me as I began to leave. "So if you work here, maybe you could direct me to the D wing. That way I won't charge in on anymore unsuspecting folks lounging in luxury."

"What makes you think I work here?"

"Well, you said our marketing materials, so I was just putting two and two together."

I stopped and turned to face him. His green eyes were radiant, hypnotizing me immediately. "I'm sorry," I gibbered. "What was the question?"

He laughed and I watched as his Adam's apple rose and fell with each sound. I felt weak in the knees and my face was on fire.

"I was wondering if you would be so kind as to direct me to the D wing, Miss...?"

"Oh, sure," I agreed, walking again, watching my feet take each step. "You really weren't too far from your mother. It can get confusing in here if you don't know your way. The B and the D wings are identical. Well, almost–for obvious reasons" I tossed my hair, amazed at how easily the flirting was coming back to me considering I'd embarrassed myself to hell and back.

"Well, it wasn't too obvious to me," he conceded, making unyielding eye contact. "But I would scuffle with Chuck the rent-a-cop all over again if it meant that you would escort me to the D wing, Miss...?

"Samantha...Peterson. Sam."

"Samantha Peterson." It rolled off his tongue like ice cream on a warm day and made me blush all over again. We turned, following the sign to the D wing. "The pleasure has been all mine, Sam Peterson."

I loved how he lingered on the word "all", reminding me that Southern men really were no match for any other. "It's nice to meet you too, Mac..." I paused, putting it together. "Callahan."

"I hope to see you again soon," he whispered quietly as he took my hand and quickly kissed it. "But under less combative circumstances."

"Yes," I stuttered, shocked by the jolt running through my body as his lips touched my skin. "That would be nice."

"Mac," he reminded me with a wink.

I swallowed hard and nodded in agreement, completely undone by him.

He turned and walked down the long elegant hallway. I only watched for a split second, trying not to ogle his fabulous man-parts, but they were just that – fabulous – like the rest of him.

What was wrong with me? This wasn't me. I didn't behave like a schoolgirl jonesing for the hot dude by his locker. I was a mother, a widow for crying out loud. But just for the moment, I felt like a woman in lust. And I loved the feeling.

## 2

MAC

"Good morning, Momma," I chimed as I walked through the door to her suite at Autumn Valley.

"Hello, Mr. Callahan," barked the nurse from the corner. "How are you, sir?"

"Fine." I slid into a chair next to Mom. "More importantly, how is my momma today?"

"Miss Nancy?" The nurse raised her voice and looked directly at my mother. "Your son is here to see you. Isn't that nice?"

Mom looked at the nurse with confusion. I swallowed hard. I hated seeing my once vibrant mother this way.

"She's having a good day today," the nurse confirmed, touching my shoulder. "I'll leave you so you can have a visit. Call me if you need anything."

"Thank you," I sighed, watching Momma intently.

I moved my chair so that I faced her directly and took both of her hands in mine, noticing she was wearing her favorite ring–a large princess cut emerald. A gift from my father before they were married, it dwarfed her tiny hand. She had aged, but looked as beautiful as ever to me. She still retained her air of refinement, though she only became totally lucid and free from the Alzheimer's that gripped her every now and again. She was dressed impeccably, as always, in a cashmere sweater set complete with a strand of pearls. Her hair was tightly brushed into a short ponytail, her signature style. The people of Autumn Valley took excellent care of her.

"Momma?" I searched her face. "It's Mac."

She concentrated on me, questioning...studying. "Good morning, Mac sweetheart," she said, softly patting my hands.

"Good morning!" I exclaimed, standing from my chair to kiss the top of her head with excitement. "How are you feeling today?"

"Mac, you look tired, honey. Are you studying too much?" She cupped my chin in her hand. Her gentle touch had grown softer as she aged and she handled my face like a delicate piece of china.

"Mom, I'm not..." I kissed her hands as I took them from my face. "No, I'm not studying too much. You don't need to worry about me."

"Tell me how you've been, son."

"I'm good," I said, easing into what felt so familiar. She might have thought I was still in school, but at least she knew who I was. "I'm sorry I haven't been to see you more often."

"It's okay, honey. Your dad and I sure do miss you."

I felt my shoulders drop. I debated whether to tell her Dad was gone, or to just let it go. I let it go. "I miss you, too. But I'm here now, and I'd love a nice long visit. Are you feeling up to that?"

"Of course, darlin'." Her words were like a sweet breeze flowing over me. I missed her ladylike ways and her delicate Southern accent that seemed to transcend time. "Tell me everything, dear. You know I love hearing about your escapades. Any young ladies you'd like to chat about? Maybe one in particular?"

"Unfortunately no, Momma," I laughed, trying to keep the subject of my love life on the light side.

"Don't worry, honey," she smiled and patted my hand. "There's someone very special out there praying for you to arrive, like a knight in shining armor."

"You're thinking of Dad," I sighed, knowing how she felt about my late father.

"I'm thinking of you," she smiled. "There's someone waiting to be loved by you."

I could only nod my head at the notion. The problem was I loved women. I loved everything about them. And I wasn't partial to one type. Blonde, brunette, redhead – they were all special. But I'd never been in love. Love wasn't my thing – never had been. For me, love was a foreign country or city–like Paris. I knew where it was. I'd been there many times and even spoke the language. But I wasn't and never would be French. So like a tourist, I visited love, but never stayed.

Instead I focused on my career. I'd done some good work for the FBI, moving up the ranks quickly. Still, I was restless and unfulfilled. I was living a Hollywood storyline: crime, guns and hot women all over me. And yet it wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

My parents taught me to give my all and my word to my loved ones. Career came third after God and family. By those standards, I was a two-time loser.

I'd tried to find a girl. I'd tried to make it work. It was never a heart crushing, mind-blowing kind of love, but the night I discovered I wasn't the only FBI agent she was bedding was almost the end of me. Her accidental iPhone pocket dial turned into a three-way – the two of them screwing, and me listening. The whole episode gave new meaning to the term phone sex. Soon after, my mantra changed. Get in, get off, and get out. This, of course, carried its own set of problems and guilt.

"You look so handsome today, Mac," she crooned. "I'm so glad to see you wearing your ring."

I sighed and glanced at my hand, slipping the ring from my finger. "I am."

A gift from my father and a Callahan tradition, the ring was our family crest. After I graduated from Cornell, my father gave it to me to remind me where I came from. I left it in Shadeland after dad died, when I realized it would be a constant reminder that I would never have a son of my own. I glanced at the inscription inside: Filius est pars Patris.

"The son is part of the father," I said, slipping it back on my hand and taking hers again.

"How's Lone Oak? Miss Celia? Timms?" Momma questioned without taking a breath. She knew I didn't want to discuss the ring or the inscription.

"Lone Oak is beautiful as always, and Celia and Timms seem good," I answered knowing she missed the centuries old plantation we called home. "Timms picked me up from the airport."

"He's such a good man, Mac," she said, reflecting on her past.

"The best," I agreed.

"I don't know what I'd do without my Timms," Momma smiled.

Jacob Timms had been my parents' long-time driver and all around supervisor of the estate. He was retired now that my dad had died and Mom no longer lived at home. He never seemed to be around, yet was always there when you needed him.

The Timms family had worked for the Callahans for generations. It was still the way of the old South. Families bound to families for years. My D.C. friends would frown upon the idea, but Southern folks didn't jump from housekeeper to housekeeper or change nannies on a whim. Here in the South, and especially in the Callahan household, the people who lived and worked beside us were family. And you never forgot your obligations to or disrespected your family.

"Miss Celia?" Momma questioned.

"She's good," I smiled, thinking about the housekeeper who'd practically raised me, and rarely called me anything but baby. "She had sweet tea and fried chicken waiting for me last night when I arrived."

"It's so good to have you home, Mac."

"It's good to be home, Momma. I'm glad I finally found your room."

Her face filled with life and laughter as I told her about walking into the wrong room and how Chuck wanted to use a Taser gun on me.

"So there we were, wrestling in the floor outside this poor woman's room," I described with animation. Mom always loved a great story, and she had been so good at telling her own. "I'm telling this security guard who I am and that I'm here to see you..."

"Oh no, Mac, you're telling tales, this didn't happen," she laughed and shook her head. It was great to see her happy.

"Yes ma'am, it most certainly did."

"Mac, you are the most precocious boy ever." She took my hand. "Whatever am I going to do with you?"

"Love me?" I asked with a smile.

"You know I do."

It was our usual exchange for as long as I could remember. From throwing a baseball through the church window in kindergarten, to my Cornell graduation day, her stock question remained the same: Whatever am I going to do with you?

"Tell me another story," she coaxed, her face still alive with laughter.

"I love a good story," chimed a voice from the doorway.

I turned to see what I assumed to be Mom's doctor making his way into the suite.

"Good morning, Miss Nancy," he announced without looking from the chart he carried in his hand. "I'm Dr. Kingston Giles. I'm your new doctor at Autumn Valley."

He stepped into the light of the room. "Son of a bitch." I stood in astonishment. "King Giles."

"McKay Waverly Callahan," Momma scolded. "Watch your language, young man."

"Yes, ma'am. My apologies," I pleaded and turned to King.

"Mac," King drawled, giving me a firm handshake and slap on the arm.

I hadn't seen King since Cornell. The only two boys in Ithaca, New York from Shadeland, Alabama, we graduated together before going our separate ways. King to med school at Johns Hopkins, and me to Harvard for law school. Two overachievers from the same hometown with prominent families, we were friends, yet fierce competitors.

"It's great to see you," he grinned, releasing my hand. "What have you been up to?"

"I've been in D.C. for the past five years with the FBI. What in the hell have you been up to?"

"Language, son."

"Yes, ma'am," I apologized, heeding my second warning. I'd lost my ability to automatically filter my vocabulary, and Southern ladies demanded manners.

"I've been in private practice for a few years now," King explained. "I practice here, and I still take call at the hospital in the ER about once a month to keep my trauma skills up."

"I'm just surprised to see you here," I replied.

King was a ladies man and a man about town–no matter what town he was in. "I always thought you'd stay in Baltimore or head back to Jersey after you finished."

"I came back to Shadeland and my parent's place, Rose Hill, after my mom passed away. If you'd asked me five years ago I would've said exactly that, but sometimes home is where you're needed, right?" he paused, tilting his head in Mom's direction. "And after I got here, it was hard to leave."

"I understand," I nodded. His family's plantation was an extraordinary place filled with tradition, and I suddenly felt envious of his decision.

"How are we doing today?" King asked, turning his attention to Mom.

"Fine," she answered quietly.

"Do you remember me, young lady?" King asked lovingly. I could see where especially the older ladies could appreciate not only his skills as a doctor, but also his charm as a gentleman. "I'm King. I'm your new doctor."

Mom nodded.

"I want to talk to you about your meds," he continued, getting back to business as he began flipping through her chart. "We've changed a few of your medicines and I want to make sure you aren't having any side effects."

"No. I'm fine." The talk of medicine and illness robbed the smile from her face.

"Good, I want you to tell me if you start to feel dizzy or have any nausea." King observed her carefully and watched her reactions to his questions.

"Okay," she whispered, her voice growing smaller, and her internal light dimmer.

"I'll check back with you later today. I'm gonna get out of your way and let you have a good long visit with this guy," he smiled, pounding my chest twice with his open hand, knocking the breath out of me.

"Ugh," I choked. "I've already had to whip one of your security guards today. Don't make me take you down too."

"That was you? No way!" he howled.

I nodded in confession.

"Hell, you'll be the talk around the nurses' station for weeks."

"I thought you only hung out at nurses' stations," I grinned, raising my eyebrow.

"Nah," King continued quietly so Mom wouldn't hear. "You know me. I'm still single, but I'm definitely not into dipping my pen in the company ink. Have you tied the knot?"

"No," I shook my head thinking how quickly time had passed. "God, it's good to see you. Let's get together while I'm here and have a bourbon or two."

"The doors at Rose Hill are always open to you," King grinned, knowing any gentleman worth his salt was at his best while overlooking his own piece of earth on a perfect veranda, sipping a small batch bourbon.

I smiled and shook my head.

"I'll give you a shout," he waved.

"Momma," I said, still astonished to see King. "I can't believe King is your doctor."

"Who?" Her voice was tiny, as she stared into the distance beyond me.

"King." I took her hands again. "Don't you remember King? He grew up here. We went to Cornell together." She blinked hard, staring through me.

"Momma?"

And with that she was gone. She turned her head and stared out the window. I could barely hear her breathe. I placed my chair beside hers and held her hand. If she was coming back, I wanted to be here.

My front coat pocket buzzed, and I quickly stepped into the hallway.

"Callahan."

"Mac, it's Dan." Dan Kelley was my superior in D.C. A hell of an agent, he let me run with most of my operations. "More on 56621. I'm having the info sent to you now."

"Thanks."

"You still sure you want this case?" questioned Dan.

"I don't think I have a choice."

"I don't think you're the kind of man who would give yourself a choice," he replied. "Just keep me in the loop."

"Yes, sir."

I killed the call and stepped back into Momma's suite, hoping to find her lucid once more.

Instead she stared out the window, slowly shutting her eyes. I didn't know when she would be coming back to me, but I was willing to wait.

*

"Nancy," I heard a voice behind me. "Nancy?" I sat up and realized I had dozed off in the chair.

"Hello," I blurted, quickly standing to meet the elegant older lady slowly making her way into Mom's room with her walker.

"Oh, hello there," she said, surprised. "I'm Marilyn Peterson, a friend of Nancy's. I was just coming in to check on her and to bring her some fresh flowers from the garden."

The small and clearly cultured woman gestured without pointing to the flowers in her basket on the front of the walker.

"Yes." I shook her hand, still in a daze from my nap. "That's so nice, Mrs. Peterson. I'm Mac Callahan. I'm Nancy's son."

"Yes, dear." She handed me the wildflowers, her hand slightly shaking. "I know who you are. Your momma and I have had many a conversation about you."

"Really?"

"You sound surprised," Mrs. Peterson quipped as she took my hand to ease into the seat next to Momma on the couch.

"No," I started. "Well, maybe a little. I never know if she's going to remember me or not."

"Well, honey," she said. "We all get old. Some of us die, and some of us hang on by the skin of our teeth. Some are hanging on and don't have any teeth."

I immediately liked this elegant lady full of spunk. I knew she was the kind of person Mom would've been friends with outside of Autumn Valley.

"Mrs. Peterson," I began, still smiling from her remark.

"Call me Mimi, sweetheart," she interjected. "It's what I prefer."

"Yes, ma'am." I conceded. "Do you visit Momma often, Miss Mimi?"

"Oh, I expect about every day we get together."

"Thank you for caring about her so much."

"Well, we old Southern ladies have to stick together," she frowned, already distracted by her next thought. "Son, can I trouble you to get some water in that vase on the windowsill for those flowers you're still holdin' onto?"

"Of course. My apologies." I jumped to retrieve the empty vase that sat with letters and cards to my mother under the large arched window.

"Get an aspirin from her cabinet in the kitchen, honey. It will make the flowers last longer in this godforsaken place," Mimi moaned, watching my every move.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Nancy, honey. It's Mimi. I'm here to sit with you for a while."

"Mimi, dear," I heard Mom say as I fished one aspirin from the bottom of the bottle.

"How're you feeling today?" continued Mimi. "I met your handsome son, Mac."

"Yes, he's here to visit."

"Here, Miss Mimi," I said, handing her the aspirin. "I'm happy to do the flower arranging so you don't have to get up."

"That would be lovely, Mac," she smiled, closing my hand around the aspirin we were exchanging. "The aspirin goes in the water, dear." I walked away, turning to watch them briefly, thinking they were still young girls in older, more delicate bodies.

"Nancy, I received some very good news today."

"Do tell," Mom said while leaning in, seemingly engaged again with the world.

"My granddaughter has taken a job here."

"That's wonderful news."

"It is wonderful. I love seeing her, and now I'll get to see her every day."

I filled the vase with water and dropped the aspirin in before arranging the flowers. I turned to show my work to Mimi for approval. "Not Martha Stewart," I confessed. "But not bad, right?"

"Oh, goodness dear," Momma crooned. "Martha Stewart is a Yankee. Let's not try to emulate her, shall we?"

"She's a Yankee that went to prison," Mimi added.

"I beg your forgiveness, ladies," I said, bowing my head with a grin.

I sat down, not wanting to intrude on girl time, but not wanting my visit with Mom to be over so soon. I hoped that Mimi could fill me in on how Mom was doing on a day-to-day basis. "So, Miss Mimi," I started. "How long have you been at Autumn Valley?"

"Oh, I expect anyone who's been here any length of time feels like it's been too long," she sighed. Her short, curly grey hair and blue eyes made her look as feisty as I believed her to be.

"Tell me more about your daughter. I couldn't help but overhear your good news." I wanted to change the topic before it went in an ugly direction.

"Granddaughter," she corrected.

"Yes, of course." I felt my phone buzz in my breast pocket. "Please pardon the interruption," I said and quickly checked my text messages, diverting my attention from Mom and Mimi for a split second.

MICAH: Call me.

"And what is your lovely granddaughter's name, Miss Mimi?" I asked, slipping the phone back into my pocket.

"Sam," she said, catching me square in the eye.

"Sam Peterson?" I choked. The amazing, blue-eyed beauty with long legs and chestnut hair?

"Yes, dear," she said, raising her eyebrows and peering over her glasses at me. "Do you know her?"

"No," I chimed, trying to suppress my delight. "Not really."

Mom smiled, and Mimi gave me a telling look. "Ladies, if you'll excuse me for a moment, I need to step out and make a phone call. Miss Mimi, do you mind to sit with Momma while I take care of some business?"

"Honey, do whatever," Mimi groaned, shooing me out of the room like a fly. "We visit all the time – read books, the newspaper – if we aren't in the obituaries, we know it's gonna be a good day."

"Of course you do," I replied sheepishly. "My apologies."

I stepped into the hallway to call my assistant Micah, leaving my guilt behind in the room.

"Mac," Micah barked, disregarding a formal hello. "How are things on the old homestead?"

"What's up?" I asked, ignoring her question. "I got your text."

"We received another anonymous email today about 56621. Same encrypted account and anonymous server."

"Somebody wants to cover their stinkin' ass," I muttered, lowering my voice and looking down the hall at a nurse moving in and out of a room. I was thankful to have Micah in my life. Most of the employees at the Bureau were tough, big-city types, and Micah was no exception. She was Betty Bureau all the way, all the time. She had a mouth like a trucker and worked like she owned the place. We behaved more like siblings than co-workers, and fought like brother and sister although we both suffered from 'only child syndrome.' Micah was the one friend, male or female, I'd take shit from. She knew it, and unfortunately seemed to enjoy it a bit too much at times. She was fearless and would tell me when I was being an asshole – something most assistants would never dare to do.

"The boys in IT can track the IP address, but it's going to take a couple of days," she rasped. "Personally, I would get a little distracted knowing my mom was in the facility."

"I'm aware of that, Micah," I snapped.

"Look, dickhead, I'm on your side. Remember?" she shot back. "Get in, take the asshole down at the nursing home and get back to D.C."

"Yeah, I will. Yak atcha later," I said flatly. It was my standard goodbye to Micah. It was my way of saying, I'm sorry I'm a dick, but you know I care.

She always gave me the same loving reply, "Only if you're lucky."

As I strolled back into Momma's suite, I decided it was time to get back to Lone Oak where I could set up a makeshift office and look through the case files.

"Well, he was a fine catch of a beau in his day," Mimi confessed, unaware I'd returned. "But now he looks like something the dog's been hiding under the porch."

"God love his heart," Momma added.

"Ladies, I think I'm going to head to the house for a little while to get some paperwork started. Momma, I'd like to join you for supper tonight."

"That would be lovely, dear," she smiled.

"Miss Mimi, it has been a pleasure meeting you." I took her hand and gave it a kiss, then turned my attention to Momma for a kiss on the cheek. "I will see you later..." I paused to give them a bow. "By all means have a wonderful day."

I stepped out of Autumn Valley and into the warm Alabama sunshine, taking a deep breath. I had work to do, and it was high time I got down to business. I looked across the parking lot and there she was – magnificent, and too sexy to miss.

My heart raced at the very sight of her. Her curves were mesmerizing and her proportions perfect. She was stunning – long and lean. Making my way to her, I couldn't help but run my hands along her flawless body as I approached her from behind. Caressing her from her bottom up, she was as smooth as silk from a heavenly spindle. She demanded attention and respect, and her almost pure feline appeal made my blood boil.

She was Dad's favorite – a 1963 Aston Martin DB5 convertible with a Vantage engine. There were only nine made, and it was his pride and joy. He'd jokingly named it Pussy Galore because Sean Connery drove one in Goldfinger. When I was a kid, I thought the car made my dad look like James Bond. Now that I was older, I knew it was a panty-dropper – the kind of car that got you laid.

A truly unselfish man, his car was the one thing Dad did just for himself. After he'd died, Mom wanted me to take it, but the car, like him, was a part of home. I didn't want to tarnish it with the scum of D.C.

"Aw, hell," I muttered as I stroked her hood before climbing in and firing her up. She purred like the hot piece of ass she was and I was anxious to shift her gears hard and fast.

She wasn't my usual car of choice when I came home, but this time I felt it was okay, almost warranted. If anything, it made me feel closer to the man I always seemed to fall short of being.

The drive to Lone Oak was too short, but I enjoyed the few moments I had alone with Pussy. I made the turn that led home and sighed. Just the sight of Lone Oak in the distance caused my shoulders to drop, the tension in my body losing its grip.

I took it all in: the seemingly endless lane to the house, the sweet smelling magnolias blooming, and the one beautiful oak tree poised in the front of the house, for which the plantation was named many years ago.

The large white pillars that surrounded the main house had weathered many a storm, but were freshly painted white – a stark contrast to the red Georgia brick that made up the rest of the massive estate. The house looked as beautiful as ever. I pulled into the circular driveway and surveyed the immaculate lawn and flowers that seemed to grow effortlessly. This was God's country, and He was a mindful caretaker of the land.

I walked into the house and was transported back two hundred years to a kinder way of life. The massive portraits of my parents graced the walls over the large mantel in the sitting room, as well as those of their parents and the many who came before. Our family spanned the walls of each ornate parlor and ascended the elaborate imperial staircase. The Callahans were, if not anything else, traditional and prolific. Hundred-year-old Oriental rugs lay on the original oak floors. The massive crystal chandelier that adorned the entrance hall was from Ireland, the homeland of my family. My great-great-grandmother had it shipped to America from Waterford before the War Between the States. The family had hidden it when the Yankees got too close to home, and many nearby plantations were robbed and burned to the ground. Mercifully, the Union Army took a shine to Lone Oak and used it as a meeting place, sparing it too much damage.

The old home was bright with the late afternoon sun, and the large floor-to-ceiling windows draped the house in warmth. It was amazing how something so old could remain so true to itself. Lone Oak had been the same for one hundred and ninety-seven years – the framework that showcased the accomplishments of generations of Callahans. Although I sometimes hesitated to admit it, Lone Oak was home.

I climbed the stairs and wandered into my bedroom to shed my coat and tie. Looking out the window over the back property, I was reminded of all that was here for me. When I left, I'd vowed to find my own way, leaving my father's wishes for me far behind. I'd been away from Lone Oak while at prep school, college and then law school. I always thought I'd return, but the past few years had tainted me. I thought of Lone Oak as sacred, and I wasn't sure now if I was worthy of its history or its obligation. I was the last Callahan in a long line of men, and although I knew I could never carry on the legacy, the obligation to be here tugged at me.

I washed my hands and splashed water on my face. Toweling off, I took a good, hard look in the mirror and rubbed my hands through my hair. My bloodshot eyes were framed with dark circles – evidence of the life I'd been leading.

As I began my trek back through the house to the study, I paused at the wedding portrait of my parents. They were so young and in love in the painting. It was hard to imagine now, but even as much of a hard-ass lawyer as my father had been, he was the kindest man in Alabama – especially when it came to my mother. He never allowed her to want for anything. He spent his life making sure she was completely and totally loved. Unlike him, I didn't even know if I was capable of that kind of love. Just the same, growing up around them it was hard not to want what they had. I had fleeting thoughts of taking care of my own bride someday. But they were just that, fleeting thoughts.

I shook it all off as I made my way to the study to set up my makeshift office. As I sat down behind my dad's desk, I began making a mental inventory of where I wanted to start at Autumn Valley. Number one on the list: Who was Sam Peterson?
A note from the Author: If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a positive review or rating on the site where you purchased it. Reader reviews help my books continue to be valued by distributors/resellers and help new readers make decisions about reading them. I value each and every reader who takes the time to do this and invite you all to join me on my website, blog, Facebook, Twitter or Goodreads.com for discussions and fun. Thank you for your support. I sincerely appreciate you. ~ KC

COMING SOON

SEX, LIES & LIPSTICK

A Moonlight and Magnolias Novel Book 2

