I’ll admit Brady’s could use a good scrubbing.”
“What it could use is a nuclear explosion. That’s what it would take to get the dirt off these floors. Everything reeks of stale beer and cigarette smoke.”
“You could clean the place up,” Tony tried again. “We’d help you.”
“I’m sorry, Tony.” And truly she was. Brady’s had probably been the sort of place where some people felt they belonged. Like Cheers, only grittier. Finding a place to fit in, to belong, was important, and she should know. She’d been trying to figure out where she fit her whole life.
Not in Pleasant Grove, the blue-collar suburb where she’d grown up in a housing project. She’d always known there was something better for her out in the world and she’d thought she’d found her place working at Bailey-Davidson’s. She’d devoted nine years of her life to it—watching, studying, improving herself, moving up the department-store career ladder, slowly accumulating college credits so that she would eventually qualify for higher management positions.
She loved that store. She loved being around the beautiful clothes, the delicate bone china, the designer bed linens—oh, how she loved the linens department.
Most of all, she’d loved being around all those well-educated, refined, soft-spoken people. And when Trey Davidson had noticed her, accepted her, when his friends had welcomed her into their circle—even though she couldn’t claim an Ivy League affiliation or a single drop of blue blood—she’d thought she’d found her place. Up-and-coming Bailey-Davidson’s executive and wife to the store’s heir apparent.
A dream come true.
Except the dream had turned into the proverbial nightmare, and Julie had once again found herself afloat in a strange sea in which she didn’t belong, wondering what she would do with her life.
Belinda’s could be her place. Her creation, her universe. She could surround herself with beautiful things, fine foods and people who appreciated the same things she did.
Tony Veracruz, she guessed, would not be one of those people. Which was a pity. Let Marcel at the Bailey-Davidson’s salon cut Tony’s hair, then put him in an Armani suit, and he’d fit right in at any office in any glass high-rise in the city. But Julie suspected that sort of life didn’t appeal to him. She could tell he liked himself the way he was and liked where he was in life.
Which was fine. That was part of his appeal, actually—the fact that he was obviously so comfortable in his skin.
His gorgeous skin.
“How ’bout I take you out to dinner tomorrow?” Tony asked. “We could get some burgers. You could tell me more about this tearoom idea of yours.”
Oh, she was tempted. For one thing, she hadn’t been out to eat at a real restaurant in weeks because she’d been hoarding her pennies.
But she had an idea that if she let Tony take her out, even for an innocent hamburger, before long he would be telling her more about what a great place Brady’s was and how wrong she was to change it to a tearoom, and she would start to doubt herself.
She didn’t need that. She’d doubted her judgment enough after finding out the man she loved had been lying to her for months—maybe longer. She needed to surround herself with people who would encourage her and support her and help her make Belinda’s a resounding success.
Julie wouldn’t have cared so much about this venture if it was just about herself, but she would do whatever it took for Belinda. Her sweet, brilliant baby sister was going to have the chance to make something fantastic of herself, and nothing was going to prevent it. Not the miserable, self-serving Davidsons, not her parents’ apathy and certainly not a fireman who was sentimental about a run-down eyesore of a neighborhood bar. Even if he was sexy as hell.
“I’m sorry, Tony. I appreciate the invitation, but I have so much to do,” she said coolly. Which was true enough.
“Another time, then. I better get back to work.” He flashed her a dazzling grin, turned with a jaunty wave and exited out the squeaky front door.
She hoped he wasn’t serious about asking her out again. She might not have the strength to turn down his next invitation.
Chapter Two
“I never met Uncle Brady, did I?” Belinda asked as she and Julie climbed the stairs to the apartment above the bar where Brady had lived.
“No, I don’t think you ever met him.” She only had a vague memory herself of a big bear of a man who showed up at Thanksgiving with a fruitcake, drank too much wine and was asked to leave. “He sent Mom a little check every once in a while—her part of the ‘profits’ from the bar. But he and Mom hardly ever talked. Mom sent him a Christmas card every year, but he never reciprocated.”
“Tony said he was a great guy.”
“Brady probably gave Tony free beer.” But Tony had painted an image of Brady that Julie couldn’t get out of her mind. A soft touch. Generous and kind. Sure didn’t sound like the mooch her mother had described.
“How much do you think we’ll get for all that stuff downstairs?” Belinda asked.
“I’ll have to do some research, but I bet those vintage signs will fetch a good price.”
“What about those green glass lampshades? Trey has some of those, doesn’t he?”
Julie gave an unladylike snort. “Trey’s are reproductions. Ours are the real thing. In fact, maybe I’ll keep those. They’ll look pretty in the tearoom, don’t you think?”
Belinda shrugged. “Will you keep the jukebox?”
“No, that I’m going to sell. It’s an old Wurlitzer, and the vinyl records alone are worth a fortune.”
Rather than sounding excited about the prospect, Belinda gave a sad little huff.
“What?”
“Oh, it’s just a bit tragic thinking about tearing the place up.”
“Belinda, you must be joking. It’s disgusting.”
“Yeah, but that guy Tony was right. If you scrubbed it up, it wouldn’t be so bad.”
“Don’t even think about it. I’m not running a bar.” Even if she had the experience or knowledge, she preferred the idea of improving the neighborhood. Brady’s had been an eyesore, no doubt drawing unsavory characters. Belinda’s was going to be beautiful. Maybe the firefighters were unhappy about her planned changes, but she bet most of the residents around here would be delighted.
“I know, I know,” Belinda said. “I’m just saying it’s a little sad, that’s all.”
Julie tried several keys from the big key ring the lawyer had given her mother, finally locating the right one. She’d been avoiding the place where her uncle had died, but she knew she had to check it out. She was planning to live here while she oversaw the renovations—and maybe afterward, too. It would save her a long commute to work, plus she would have her privacy back. Living
