me, Darcie. I’m not going to be able to go back to sleep until you do.”
“I promise. I’ll call.”
She hung up just as Nick’s car pulled to the curb. Unlike the other boxy subcompacts parked nearby, it was a sleek, low-slung convertible.
“Nice car.” She tapped a finger to her lips as she studied its graceful lines. “A 1963 Porsche, right?”
He nodded slowly. “A 356 Super 90 Cabriolet, to be exact.”
“Fully restored?”
“Yes, but with original parts. And I have a certificate of authenticity from the manufacturer.”
“Ooh. That pushes up its value.”
“It does.” Nick tilted his head to the side. “How is it that you know so much about automobiles?”
Darcie chuckled at his incredulous expression. “I work for a classic car magazine. I guess I picked up a few things along the way.”
“You’re a writer.”
She frowned. Not for lack of wanting, she thought. “No. I just check the facts of articles other people write.”
“Which magazine might that be?”
“Automobile Enthusiasts Monthly. It’s relatively small and based in Buffalo. You probably haven’t heard of it.” Darcie hadn’t until Tad’s friend had offered her the job just before her engagement.
“I have a subscription. I find it very factual.” He got out of the car and stood beside her. “What else can you tell me about this particular model Porsche?”
“Well, as I recall, it was very popular in America when it first came out.”
“It still is among collectors.”
“And you’re a collector.” It made sense. A man with a Park Avenue address likely would have the disposable income to indulge his whims, even ones that ran into six figures.
But Nick was shaking his head. “I collect for others. As much as I like this automobile, I will not be buying it. It will go to whoever pays the most to possess it. It is what I do for a living.” He pulled out a business card, which he handed to her. It read, Costas Classic Auto Sales and Auctions.
“Impressive.”
“It would appear that you and I have two interests in common.”
“Two?”
“Classic cars and...” His smile could have melted a glass and made it clear what that other interest was. She smiled in return and hoped the laughter that followed came off as worldly rather than the sort fueled by giddiness and nerves.
“Let me take your bag,” he said.
The Porsche had a rear engine, meaning its trunk was in the front. When Nick opened the compartment, Darcie eyed the small space.
“Gee, maybe it’s just as well the airline lost one of my bags. I don’t think both of them would fit in here. I guess when you own one of these babies you have to travel light to travel in style.” She glanced at Nick, a question forming. “Where’s your luggage?”
The left side of his mouth rose. “On a plane bound for New York.” At her puzzled expression, he added, “I was planning to fly back today.”
“Why did you change your mind?”
“I decided I was being rash.”
“So you missed your flight and offered assistance to a perfect stranger instead,” she replied dryly. Talk about rash...and flattering. Just wait until she told Becky that. Her friend was going to hyperventilate. As it was, Darcie’s breathing was a little uneven.
“A stranded stranger,” Nick corrected. His smile was full-blown this time and very effective. “One who is also very beautiful.”
Her heart fluttered and she blinked. “Oh.”
“You are blushing.”
“I, um...” She waved a hand, not certain how to reply.
“Surely, you have been told before that you are beautiful?”
“Of course I have.” She rolled her eyes. “All the time, in fact. We’re talking daily. It gets old.”
The truth was no, at least not in the past several years. Tad wasn’t one for compliments. Even during the courtship phase of their relationship, pretty words had been few and far between. After he’d slid an engagement ring on her finger? Forget about it.
“You know how I feel about you, Darcie. That should be enough.”
Maybe it should have been. But it wasn’t. Every now and then, especially when she was PMSing and feeling bloated and unattractive, a compliment would have been nice.
And then there was his mother. Evil Evelyn, as Becky had dubbed her. The older woman was quick with thinly veiled digs about Darcie’s appearance, including her good “birthing hips.”
“You are beautiful,” Nick said again. “And your blush only makes you more so.”
This time, Darcie accepted the compliment with what she hoped was a gracious smile. Beautiful. Why not? Wasn’t beauty in the eye of the beholder? And what a beholder.
Nick opened the car door for her before heading around to the driver’s side. It was another small courtesy that made her feel like she’d stepped into some sort of fairy tale.
“Shall I put up the top?”
“No,” she told him. “Leave it down. I can use the fresh air after all those hours in a stuffy airplane.”
And, okay, in her fairy tale, a ride in a Porsche convertible only added to the romance.
He was seated behind the wheel now. “Even if it means tangled hair?” He reached over and coiled the end of one lock around his index finger. If he wound it any tighter, she would be forced to lean closer to him.
While their gazes held, she blindly plumbed the depths of her oversized purse until her fingers encountered an elastic band. Pulling it out with the same verve a magician uses to produce a white rabbit, she announced, “I believe I have a solution for that.”
Nick eyed the elastic band a moment before uncoiling the lock, and she hastily tugged her hair into a ponytail.
“Very clever, but you missed some.”
This time, he made contact with more than her hair. His fingertips were warm against her cheek as they corralled the wayward strands and tucked them behind her ear. The gesture might have been construed as friendly if not for the gleam in his dark eyes or the Richter-scale-worthy effect it had on her pulse.
A car horn blasted behind them. Its driver yelled something in Greek. Nick yelled something back in the same language, but his tone
