her peripheral vision she saw that Adelaide had stepped away from the counter to assist a customer, and there was now a line at the checkout station. Matt was supposed to be here working today, but though she needed him badly, she needed him in Paxco more.
She masked her relief as the small crowd in front of her began to drift away—all except for the Santa Claus man who stepped forward and handed her a card.
“I’d appreciate a call the moment you get the tracking number.”
She glanced down at it, noted the ritzy address on East 70th and the name. George Miller. It didn’t ring a bell. She glanced back up at him. “Have we met before, Mr. Miller? You look familiar to me, but I can’t quite place it.”
He gave her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “No. I would have remembered if we’d met before, Ms. McGuire.” He turned to exit the shop.
Cat tucked the card into her pocket, took out the notebook she always carried with her, and jotted down a reminder to personally call each customer who was waiting for a doll just as soon as they arrived.
One crisis postponed, she told herself as she moved as quickly as she could toward the checkout counter. As she did, she brushed by Adelaide.
Pitching her voice low, Adelaide said, “Nicely done. You’re better than anyone I know at defusing panic attacks.”
“I didn’t do so well on my own,” Cat murmured.
Adelaide shot her a quick sideways glance. “At least no one brought up the Nor’easter that’s due to arrive tomorrow. If they close down the airports…”
Cat clamped her hands over her ears, and Adelaide’s rich laugh filled the shop. She was a round, comfortable-looking single woman in her late fifties who combined a love of children with an accounting degree from Sarah Lawrence. In addition, she had a personal warmth that reminded Cat of Paula Deen, one of the most popular chefs on the Food Network. Adelaide had retired early from a lucrative job at Price Waterhouse and referred to her work at the Cheshire Cat as her little mad money job.
Adelaide patted Cat’s shoulder. “Just teasing. These winter storms are never as bad as the predictions. It’s all hype.”
“From your mouth to God’s ears,” Cat said. Then she added, “The man who cut into your checkout line earlier—George Miller—did you take his order for one of the dolls?”
“No. I’ve never seen him before. Have you?”
Cat shook her head. “But there’s something familiar about him.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Cat spotted the beginnings of a protest at the checkout counter. Dashing forward, she beamed a smile at the man who was first in line and rang up the sale. While he was signing the credit card receipt, she pulled her cell phone out and speed-dialed her neighbor.
Josie Sullivan was a retired schoolteacher in her early seventies who’d moved into the apartment below Cat’s about a year ago. She had an ethereal air that reminded Cat of one of Tennessee Williams’ southern heroines. But beneath her seemingly fragile exterior, Josie had an energy and an ironwilled determination that must have served her well in a thirdgrade classroom.
It certainly worked when she was steering customers toward a sale. Off and on over the past year, Josie had been filling in at the store during what Cat had dubbed the “crush hours.” Since their apartments were in the building that shared a courtyard with the Cheshire Cat, Josie could make it to the store on a moment’s notice. All she had to do was exit the back of their building, cross the courtyard and take a shortcut down an alley. The arrangement was working out so well that Cat was going to offer her a more permanent part-time job right after the first of the year.
“Cat, tell me you desperately need me in the store,” Josie said the instant she picked up her phone. “I’m simply bored to death.”
Cat smiled. “I desperately need you in the store.” Then she held out her hand to the harried-looking woman who was next in line at the counter. “Sorry you had to wait. Let me take that for you.”
BY EIGHT O’CLOCK, Cat’s head was aching and her feet were killing her, but she was finally able to lock the front door of her toy store. Even though the Cheshire Cat officially closed at seven, the shop had still been filled with shoppers. During the week before Christmas, one had to go with the flow, but she’d insisted that Josie and Adelaide leave at seven. On Thursday theywould close at 6:00 so that they could all attend the big charity ball her stepmother chaired each holiday season.
Cat had bought tickets for all of her employees, hoping to placate her stepmother. Gianna Merceri McGuire was not going to be pleased when Cat arrived without a date in tow.
A date. In the past year and a half, the concept had become foreign to her. The last time she’d gone out with a man she’d still been working at Macy’s.
It was then that she once more recalled the stranger who’d been standing at the edge of the small crowd on the sidewalk that morning. He’d been teasing his way into her mind all day. This was the first opportunity she’d had to think about the odd reaction she’d had to him.
No, odd wasn’t the precise word. She’d never had such an intense reaction to a man in her life. Not even to the men she’d taken as lovers. Cat frowned as she recalled that moment when his eyes had collided with hers. The contact had been as intimate as a touch. She hadn’t been able to think or move. All she could do was feel. Desire—raw, primitive, compelling—had filled her. And in that instant, an image had formed in her mind of the two of them naked, their legs tangling as they rolled across a floor.
Which was absolutely ridiculous. He was a complete stranger. She’d barely caught a glimpse of him.
But she had no trouble picturing him now. He’d been big, broad-shouldered and tall. He’d had a strong face, like a warrior. In the black leather bomber jacket and jeans, he’d looked tough. Not her usual type. But that hadn’t stopped her from imagining their bodies locked together.
Fisting her hands at her side, Cat pushed the image out of her mind. There had to be a rational explanation for what she’d felt—what she was still feeling. First of all, she hadn’t slept much the night before.And hewas a man whowould stand out in any crowd. Her body had obviously been trying to tell her something. Devoting all her time to making the Cheshire Cat a success had left a void in her life. That had to be it.
She’d better get back into the dating scene. Nothing serious. But some simple, uncomplicated sex held a certain appeal. Pulling her notebook out of her jacket pocket, she jotted a note to herself. NewYear’s resolution #1: Start dating again.
And the plan would have certain benefits. Next year she might have an escort for Gianna’s charity ball. Her stepmother wanted her in a serious relationship with a “suitable” man—suitable meaning someone with the proper social standing. Cat wasn’t about to walk down the path that Gianna had all mapped out for her, but a date now and then, someone to see a movie with—that would be enjoyable.
Right. Who was she kidding? When she’d looked into that stranger’s eyes this morning, going to a movie with him had been the last thing on her mind. She’d thought of sex, raw, wild, incredible.
Tucking her notebook back into her pocket, Cat firmly pushed all thoughts of the attractive stranger, the upcoming ball and the questions shewould have to handle from her stepmother firmly out of her
