Libby? You’ve hired painters? What on earth are you thinking, child?”
Libby sighed. “I guess Doug called.” She should have figured on that, she thought, as she pulled a chair close to the bed. “I wish he hadn’t done that. I wanted to surprise you, Aunt Elizabeth.”
“I am surprised,” she said, rearranging the sheet that covered her. “And not all that pleasantly, my girl. You shouldn’t be throwing your money away…”
“Wait. Just wait a minute.” Libby held up her hand like a traffic cop. Sometimes it was the only way to stop this woman from going on and on. “I got a very special deal on the labor, so the job really isn’t costing much at all. Trust me.”
Her aunt narrowed her eyes. “How much?”
“Seven, eight hundred tops.”
“I don’t believe you,” she snapped.
“It’s true, Aunt Elizabeth. Cross my heart. I’ll even show you the canceled check when I get it.”
The elderly woman clucked her tongue. “And I suppose it’s already too late to stop this painting nonsense?”
“Yes,” Libby said stubbornly.
Her aunt, equally stubborn, glared out the window for a moment before she snapped, “Well, then tell me what colors you picked out. You know very well that I don’t like change, Libby, and when your Uncle Joe gets home he’ll expect the place to look just as it did when he left for Korea.”
After half a century he’s not coming home, Libby wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, but she didn’t. Aunt Elizabeth was an absolutely sane and reasonable woman, and likely a lot sharper than most folks her age, except for her complete and utter denial of her husband’s death.
If you started to argue with her, if you tried to convince her the man was dead, she’d snap, “Well, then. Show me his death certificate.” And of course there wasn’t one since he’d gone missing in action, so her aunt always won the argument. And that was that.
When Libby was a little girl, she honestly believed her Uncle Joe would be coming home any day. She couldn’t recall how old she was when Doug told her that the man had been missing in action since the 1950s. And he wasn’t coming home. Ever. Now, this is just between you and me, sweetie, he had said.
Over the years, Aunt Elizabeth’s friends and acquaintances tolerated this little lapse of sanity, this unreasonableness, or whatever it was. Doug, bless his heart, seemed to accept it completely. Libby did, too, she supposed, after all this time. When the subject arose, they’d all give her aunt the usual sympathetic nod or a brief tsk-tsk before quickly moving on to another topic of conversation.
Was she crazy? Perhaps. But the craziness was quite specific and limited to Uncle Joe and his imminent return. Aside from that particular bat in her belfry, Aunt Elizabeth was completely normal.
“Tell me the colors, Libby,” her aunt demanded now.
“You’re going to love them,” she said. “I tried really hard to duplicate the original cream and green of the Haven View. I knew that’s what you’d want.”
“I must say that if I’d been in the mood to paint, honey, that’s precisely what I would’ve chosen. And now I can’t wait to come home and see it.”
Libby nodded, feeling both deeply touched and hugely relieved in the same moment. At least her first surprise had ended well. Now there were approximately forty-nine thousand dollars worth of surprises still to come. Heaven help her.
Happily, there were no more surprises and no more ruffled feathers during the remainder of her visit. They had a good time together, and when Aunt Elizabeth’s crabby roommate made her return appearance, Libby hugged and kissed her aunt goodbye and returned to her car. She was just fastening her seat belt when her cell phone rang.
David the Bear didn’t waste much time, she thought. Hello was hardly out of her mouth when he asked, “Got any plans for this evening? What are you doing for dinner?”
“Hmm. Dinner.” She tried with all her might to suppress a grin even though he obviously couldn’t see it. And the answer she gave him wasn’t all that far from the truth. “I was just now considering picking up a crisp domestic salad with a light Italian dressing and croutons, of course, while on my way home, then pairing it with delicately microwaved macaroni and cheese. Care to join me?”
“I’ve got a much better idea,” he said.
Yes, he did indeed have a better idea, Libby thought when she finally closed her phone. Being chauffeured to a penthouse dinner at the magnificent Marquis most definitely trumped a take-out salad and lowly mac and cheese.
Three
The penthouse elevator door chimed as it swooshed open, and David, who’d been waiting in the marbled vestibule, turned to greet not the strawberry blonde he was expecting, but rather a luscious peach parfait. His heart shifted perceptibly in his chest and his entire body quickened at the sight of her. The woman looked utterly magnificent. If he’d felt merely smitten with Libby Jost before now, right this second he considered himself completely in lust.
She stepped forward into the vestibule, disclosing a delicate and adorable gold-sandaled foot along with a sleek and shapely length of calf. The pale peach fabric clung to her hips and her breasts, to her whole body like a second, shimmering skin. David swallowed hard. Just as he’d suspected, though, it didn’t help all that much.
“Welcome to the Marquis,” he said, striding forward and claiming her hand the way he wanted to claim every lovely inch of her from her tumbled hair to her golden toes. He couldn’t help but think that her work put her on the wrong side of a camera.
“Thank you.” She laughed then, a sound that was slightly husky and infinitely sexy. “I know I’m ridiculously overdressed,” she said, “but I decided, since this will probably be my only visit here, at least to the penthouse, I might as well go all the way.”
David clenched his teeth. He wasn’t going to touch that remark with a ten-foot pole. Not even a twenty-foot one.
She blinked, and the color on her smooth cheeks deepened several shades, turning from delicate pink to a deep warm rose. “Fashion-wise, I mean.”
Stupid, Libby chided herself. Even without the benefit of wine, she’d managed to put her foot in her mouth immediately upon her arrival. The man—quite gorgeous now and elegant in a black turtleneck and black pleated slacks—must think she’s an absolute and unredeemable twit. She wrenched her gaze away from his face, let it stray around the suite and then immediately focused on the southern wall of floor-to-ceiling windows.
“What an incredible view,” she exclaimed. “Oh, it’s just amazing.”
David reached for her hand. “Come have a closer look,” he said, leading her into the suite, across a gorgeous oriental carpet that must’ve been the size of a football field and around burnished leather chairs and glass tables that gleamed richly in the ambient light. It was as if she’d landed smack in the middle of an issue of Architectural Digest.
As exquisite as the penthouse’s décor was, the view from its enormous window was even better. Or so it
