The Girl He Wants Read online

  I quickly finish loading my plate and make my way to my friends. Sliding into one of the two remaining chairs, I face the gathering of women who are as important to me as my family.

  “So?” Paisley asks.

  “So nothing. Stop with the matchmaking.” I shake my head. “Not going to happen. And remind me to cancel my cable.” I look around the table. “Where’s Heather?”

  “She’s on her way.” Paisley dips a chip into her favorite comfort food, spinach and artichoke dip.

  “Did you work the pub today, too?” Josie asks me.

  I nod. “Still no good candidates and with Dad’s broken leg—”

  “Wait.” Kenley stops me. “When did your Dad break his leg?”

  “Last week? Didn’t I tell you?” Has it been that long since I’ve seen any of them? I’ve seen Paisley the most.

  “You told me.” Josie nudges me with her elbow.

  “And me,” Paisley adds.

  “That’s good, because I thought I’d lost it for a moment. I knew I told someone.” I focus my attention on Kenley. “It’s only rush hour where they need me the most. Thankfully, I have Shara. She’s amazing and runs my shop perfectly, which has been a relief as it lets me focus my worrying on Mum and Dad.” And worry I do. This accident of Dad’s not only highlighted how thinly spread they are at the pub but how long their hours are and, the most disturbing of all, that they’re getting older.

  After Dad’s accident it was clear that contingency plans were not something they’d discussed nor was short or long-term disability. Something that I purchased right away as my shop is my sole income and an accident to me is lost money. I ponder the article in my pocket. If I made a small fortune, I would be able to offer them an early retirement.

  “If they need anything, let me know. I’ll cover a few shifts too.” Josie puts a comforting hand over my forearm. If I were gifted a sister I’d pick her. She’s getting married in a little over two weeks, is scheduled to take the bar exam, and is helping her fiancé, Brinn, with his new start-up company. The second one for them in as many years.

  “You’re a love,” I say as we slide into a side-arm hug.

  “Anything at any time.”

  “I don’t know much about waitressing, but I’m off work until school starts up in August. I’ll help any way I can,” Paisley says before munching on a chip.

  “Hey all.” Heather slides into the chair next to me. “Guess what? I have a job interview. Finally. Maybe I can get out of the hellish cycle of temporary work.” Heather, mum to sweet-faced Tyler, a preschooler with special needs, has recently become a single woman. Though her divorce isn’t final, she’s decided she can’t afford to be one hundred percent dependent on her soon-to-be ex. Hence the job seeking.

  “Where is it?” Kenley, Heather’s sister-in-law, asks.

  “Oh, um...it’s a receptionist position at the hospital. The hours align with Tyler’s school so it’s perfect.”

  “Being a teacher is perfect too, and you only need one more year of college for that.” Kenley takes a chip from Paisley’s basket.

  Heather rolls her eyes and Josie, Paisley, and I sit back, away from the row that is about to take place.

  “I’ve told you. I’ll go back to school as soon as I can. Right now I want to make sure I can afford to feed Tyler and myself if Justin doesn’t pay his support money.”

  “You could live with us,” Kenley says.

  “I’m going to the restroom.” Paisley jumps up from her seat. Confrontation in any capacity is hard for her.

  “Yes, because living with my brother and his wife is a step up from my current situation of a soon-to-be divorced loser who can’t even support her own child.”

  “Hey.” Paisley stops her flight. “I’m divorced and I don’t think I’m a loser.”

  Heather drops her head on her palms, sighs, and then looks up at us. “I desperately want to do this on my own. Can you understand that?” Her gaze swings from Kenley to Paisley. “I’m sorry. You aren’t a loser. I didn’t mean it like that.”

  Paisley drops back onto her chair. “I know. If it’s any consolation I sorta know what you’re going through. I mean, I don’t have a kid but it’s an adjustment period, and I think you’re doing an amazing job.”

  “You are too,” Heather says, reaching for Paisley. They clutch each other’s hands.

  “Josie?” Brinn stands over her, having come up behind us while we were all watching Heather fall apart.

  “What?” She tilts her head back and looks up at him. “Oh, right. Okay.” She pushes back from the table.

  “Excuse me, everyone,” she calls out.

  I look around. Having only paid attention to the food and my friends, I now see Erik, Brinn’s business partner, and Brinn’s younger brother, Vann, are standing next to the grill talking to Stacy. Erik, who I’ve known the last few years, is a minor nuisance who comes and goes sporadically. Our interactions are limited; I can count them on one hand for this year alone. My guess is that Stacy will be the same. Which, if I were interested in playing delivery man and romance writer with him, I’d find a positive mark on the mental checklist I go through when deciding to chat someone up. I prefer not to mix intimacy with my sex.

  “I would like to take this moment to formally introduce our friend and chief financial officer, Stacy Cunningham.”

  Josie continues. “Stacy worked with us on that start up with Erik a few years ago when we partnered up. Wow. That seems forever ago.” She takes Brinn’s hand and leans into him.

  “And look at the two of you now. About to play house officially,” Erik says. He has this bloody awful habit of hiking up his pants while his hands are in the pockets, which he does now. It poofs out his groin region and draws one’s eyes in that direction. It’s very awkward.

  I find comfort in the fact that they aren’t pleated.

  “And we wanted to thank everyone for all their help then and now.” Brinn raises his beer. “You all are awesome.”

  “Don’t anyone show Stacy they’re crazy until after he’s situated.” Josie winks at him.

  “Too late. Why introduce him to us before he’s all moved in?” Paisley waves at Stacy and he waves back.

  Everyone laughs. We are a motley crew, for sure.

  “Hi Stacy, I’m Heather.” She waves and flips a golden lock over her shoulder.

  My car park murderer waves back. He scans the group and when his gaze meets mine he gives a small shake of his head.

  I lean toward Paisley. “You can hang up your hopes of anything between me and your swoon-worthy nerd. I think he might be afraid of me.”

  “You think he’s swoon worthy?” Excitement is written all over her face.

  Josie sits down between us and effectively cuts off any reply. “All right. Let’s get to gossiping.”

  “He seems nice,” Kenley whispers, her gaze on Stacy.

  “He’s very nice. I like him a lot and so does Brinn. You all know Brinn doesn’t have many friends. It’s hard to keep them when you’re a workaholic. But he and Stacy fit well together and even though they’re working long hours they still do fun things together. Brinn needs that. I need that for Brinn. And, we couldn’t do this new start up without him.”

  “We’re very excited for you all,” Kenley says.

  I switch the focus to Heather. “Let me know what you’re wearing to the interview. I can help you pull something smart together. You’ll wow them,” I say quietly.

  “Thanks,” she whispers. “Will do.

  “Okay, here’s the lineup for the wedding,” Josie says. “Vann is the best man, and he will walk with you, Jayne. Will is walking with Daanya, who will also create a fabulous mandala on my back. Like the one she did when I went to that charity event with Brinn a few years ago. Remember that, Jayne?”

  I nod. I most certainly do. The picture I’d taken of Josie in the silver gown with the delicate filigree design her brother’s wife, Daanya, ha
d created on her back, had inspired a stroke of genius. Since then, I keep a henna artist on call to do such creations for my customers. It’s very profitable.

  She unfolds a sheet of vellum and produces a picture of such beauty we all gasp then sigh. “Amazing, right? Daanya is incredible. If she ever gets tired of being a surgeon she can totally do this.” Josie gently caresses the picture. “Anyway,” she continues. “Paisley, you’re walking with Stacy.”

  “Oh, speaking of beautiful. Lucky you, Paisley,” Heather says. “That Stacy fellow is F.I.N.E.”

  Surprised, we all stare at Heather. She’s never been so overt before.

  She giggles and covers her mouth before saying, “I mean, you know, he’s cute.”

  “For the tall, nerdy type,” Kenley says.

  “Like Clark Kent,” Heather replies. She directs our attention behind us and we turn.

  The guys have abandoned the grill to start a game of beach volleyball. Whether intentional or not, they’ve taken off their shirts, and surprisingly enough even Erik is sporting a form that could make some girl warm.

  I swing my gaze to Stacy. Sweet mother of Oscar de la Renta, the man has a body like Superman.

  “I think he’s perfect for Jayne,” Paisley says, her machinations obvious. Bless her.

  “I think Hank is perfect for you.” Josie’s quick with the barbs that cut close.

  Paisley pops up again. “It’s my turn to get the drinks. I can mix something up with Josie’s blender. Or get some more snacks. Anyone want any food?” She doesn’t wait for any response.

  “What are we going to do with her?” Josie shakes her head.

  “Give her more time. She’ll figure it out.” I nudge Josie with my knee. “You did.”

  “How did you ever bear to watch?”

  I respond with an eye roll. Not everyone gets a natural disaster to help them figure out their lives. Only Josie required an act of God, as he’s the only one with enough patience and strength to face off with her. Well, God and Brinn.

  “Hey all,” I say. “I would like to discuss something that is really exciting.”

  I pull my list out of the satchel that I use as my briefcase.

  “Remember how I’ve talked about expanding? How keen I am to tap into different markets. Many of my personal clients come from all over and I’ve talked, well dreamt really, about reaching more of them.” I unfold the paper. “Here is my plan to expand. It’s really happening.”

  “You’ll have to hire a bookkeeper,” Josie cautions. “You’re up for that, right?”

  I jab my elbow in her side. “I’ve decided that it’s time to do it. I’ve narrowed down my list to three. These are the top choices for where I’m going to open my next shop. Which do you like best? Miami, Buckhead, or Dallas?”

  “Are you going to relocate?” Heather asks.

  I’ve run this by Josie and Paisley a few times, so they’re already up to date on my expansion plan.

  “Temporarily. Until I get it off the ground and running smoothly. Likely, I’ll commute home a few weekends a month. Shara can run the shop here and this new shop and my personal shopping clients will be my primary focus. Today the United States. Tomorrow the world.” I hold up my paper in Dr. Evil fashion and try to emulate a wicked laugh.

  Indeed, this new business plan to expand is scary, but I’m ready, and if there was ever a doubt, the recent situation with Dad’s accident and Mum working ragged has swiftly ceased it. One day, Mum will be too old to make scones, her hands gnarled with arthritis, and Dad isn’t so much as a cook. It may not happen by my thirtieth birthday, but I might make my (and Mum’s) financial goal two years after said milestone birthday.

  “Which do you prefer?” Kenley asks. “And which is your least preference?”

  “Honestly, Miami is my first and only pick. It’s the priciest option and my greatest obstacle will be finding a location. But I might also use this venture to get into some real estate, as I’ll need to buy a building there instead of lease space. I selected the others because I need a contingency plan, but I’m hoping to not have to go there.”

  “Let us know if we can help,” says Paisley.

  Josie raises her glass and the others follow suit. “Dream big or go home, I say. Here’s to Jayne. May she have great success in this new adventure.”

  Chapter 4

  As is now my normal, I start my day at my shop and end it at my parents’ pub. It’s only Tuesday, though it feels like it’s later in the week.

  Though working both jobs is exhausting, at least the pub is home away from home. The lovely smells—the fish, the spicy meat of shepherd’s pie, and hops—help the stress and anxieties roll right off me.

  Serving, though hard on the feet and legs, is a mindless state for me. Table ten gets this. Twelve gets that. All right, easy enough. As opposed to adding figures in my ledger. I’d rather bang my head repeatedly on a concrete wall than do my ledgers.

  The sight of Mum standing by the fryer, humming, also relaxes me. This was my everyday as a child.

  In between serving food orders I nick some of my mum’s fish and chips. The Chinese food I ate earlier did little to curb my hunger, but—huzzah!—the fortune was brilliant.

  A new pair of shoes will do you a world of good, it read.

  Too right! I’d been eyeing these smashing “sultry slag red” heels I bought for a client on my last trip to Italy. She broke her ankle and was off heels and, not having the heart to sell them to anyone else, I decided to say thank you, Mr. Fortune Cookie, and buy them for myself. No matter that I’ll be equivalent in height to a baby giraffe when I wear them. Today, I don’t give a rat’s arse. I’ve been wearing them all day.

  As I do with all my good fortunes, I’ll save this one, put it in the jar to pull out again when I need a pick me up. Which, with my luck, could be as soon as tomorrow.

  “How’s it going, love?” Mum sings to me as she loads chips into a wrapper, laying the fish on top. She places the bundle in a basket and moves the basket to a tray.

  “It might be slowing a tad.” I place the tray on the counter, take in another breath then I lean to kiss her cheek. “Smells heavenly.”

  “When was the last time you ate?”

  “You mean a proper meal? Not the bits of fish I’ve helped myself to?”

  Mum waits for me to answer as she dips and batters more filets.

  “Lunch.”

  “No dinner?” She hands me a breaded filet. I generously sprinkle malt vinegar over it and eat it while leaning over the sink.

  “I’ve got plans.” It’s a bend of the truth. After I eat and help out a bit more, I plan to head home to watch naughty telly while working more on my books. I’m nearly done and I can’t wait to get it over with so I can have two weeks off before I start the painful ritual again.

  See, plans.

  I hide a yawn by tucking my face in my shoulder then wash my hands before I take the ticket next in line and load the tray.

  “Jaynie-girl, go home already.” Dad balances a mixing bowl against his extended belly and turns the dough, precisely as Mum has harped at him for the past twenty years. He winces, pauses to shift his weight, his awkward, cast-encased leg extended in front of him. Likely his source of discomfort. He stepped into a hole while taking out the pub’s rubbish and broke his ankle in four places, his leg bones in two, and required more pins and rods than a seamstress constructing a bodice from boning.

  “I will soon.” I drop a kiss on his bald spot. For the last year, staffing has been an issue. Most people want to work in pubs along the beach. While ours is popular with locals, its inland location makes it difficult for tourists to stumble across, and therefore not ideal when the bulk of income comes from one’s tips.

  “Why bother, Thomas?” Mum asks. “She doesn’t listen. I keep telling her this is energy she could spend on making her fortune. Yet, she’s here instead.”

  “Mum, please. I want to help.” I knead
my hand over the knots at the base of my head, stretching the tension from my neck at the same time. I don’t point out that they’d have one server if I weren’t here and where one is too little and three too much, I balance it all just right.

  “Go home, darling. You worked hard enough today. I’m sure this new shop you want to open takes lots of time and mental energy. Did I tell you how proud I am of you for your shops? There’s nothing better than owning your own business. Sometimes I kiss these bricks.” She leans in closer. “Doing this will ensure you aren’t dependent on a man, Jayne. You alone can make your dreams come true.”

  I’ve heard this saying my entire life.

  Mum shoos me away from the tray then moves to the fryer to remove the cooked fish. The sight of her hands always takes my breath away. Red, chaffed, the occasional scar, I’m used to. Lately it’s the knobbiness of her knuckles, the telltale sign of arthritis, giving me pause. How much longer will she and Dad be able to keep up this pace and run their business? Funny, or is it ironic, how Dad’s dream of the restaurant/pub English style was the impetus for them moving to America in the first place. I believe Mum would have been content to stay and work in her family’s pub, to split the lion’s share of work.

  “You’ve listened well, Jaynie-girl,” Mum says, using the nickname Dad gave me twenty years ago when my adolescent and needy self thought Mum, who was working day and night herself and newly married to Dad (he’s not my biological father), would have more time for me if I were more like Lisa Marie. Desperate for her attention and smart enough to use her frenzied love for Elvis, I teased my hair out, walked around with squinty eyes (which caused many a stumble) and requested that everyone call me Jayne-Marie. My middle name is Elizabeth.