Fixer-Upper (Spinning Hills Romance 3) (3 page)

“Thanks, man,” one of the guys said before heading toward the stairs. Johnny turned to his “date,” wanting more than anything to have to wait all night with her, talking to her, laughing with her, pulling her close and kissing her . . . but when he looked beside him, she was gone.

Stunned, he spun around a few times and looked left and right, but there was no sign of her.

He peered into the elevator and blinked, wondering if he’d dreamt the whole thing, when a folded piece of cardboard paper caught his eye. He picked it up and opened it. It was the invitation to the masquerade party, and the name on it gave him a momentary panic attack. He read it again. M
ELINDA
M
EDINA
leapt up at him.

Marty’s youngest sister. Worse than that, Rosa’s granddaughter. Marty had been his best friend since kindergarten, and Rosa was the most daunting of the three meddling owners of the Gypsy Fortune Café and Bakery.

It would explain why so much about her felt familiar in that faded way. She’d also mentioned her parents had been married a long time, like Marty’s, and she’d talked about a musical, and Melinda was an actress.

But good sense soon kicked in. Marty’s youngest sister was supposed to be in California, Melinda was a common enough name, and
Medina
wasn’t exactly uncommon, either. It
could
be someone else. It would be easy to find out . . .

Our little Vegas.
Johnny drew a hand through his hair and blew out a breath. He’d promised. And she’d kept up her side of the bargain. She’d left and hadn’t looked back. If she’d wanted to explore what had happened, she wouldn’t have run away. He looked into the elevator and relived every moment. The entire episode had felt intimate. The connection had been intense. Could it really have been Marty’s little sister?
He had to know
.

But he’d have to find out without breaking his promise. What happened in the elevator would remain between them.

Men didn’t like to talk to other men about their sisters, so asking Marty was out. Grandmothers, on the other hand, loved to talk about their grandchildren . . .

R
uby Meriwether, inarguably the most meddling of the three owners of the Gypsy Fortune Café and Bakery, shook her wide sleeve back and glanced at her watch. “You’re never here at two. Is something the matter?” She pierced Johnny with narrowed, bright blue eyes.

Johnny sat down at the counter. Ruby was a descendant of the gypsies who’d founded their little town, and she was convinced she’d inherited their mystical powers of intuition. With her long, silver hair and collection of loose, colorful dresses, she certainly made sure she looked the part. “No, I just got back from Columbus and thought I’d grab some—”

“Pie,” Ruby finished for him with a knowing nod.

Johnny only wanted coffee, but if he was going to glean information from the three elderly ladies, he had to begin by letting them think they were right. The three women had two main things in common: They loved to interfere and they loved being right. “Exactly. A slice of pie and a double shot of espresso.”

Sherry Stokes, the third and only levelheaded owner, backed out of the kitchen with a tray of sweets. She set it down on the counter and blinked over at him. “What’s up? You’re never here at two.”

Johnny stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “I was in Columbus on a date, not for class, so I’m back early.”

“Must’ve been some date for you to make the trip to Columbus.” Ruby winked.

Johnny hesitated. Had Brianna, aka Snow White, thought the same thing? Was that part of the wrong message he’d sent, that he’d been willing to make the trip? The drive had never been a big deal to him. It was relaxing, in a way, to be alone with music and his thoughts, his eyes trained on the road ahead. “No. I’m used to the drive and don’t mind it,” he explained.

“Still. The commute must be getting old by now. How long has it been, three years?” Sherry’s pale green eyes were sympathetic. Her short blond do, rounded cheeks, and pout made her look almost beatific, which Johnny knew to be highly misleading. Levelheaded she was; saint she was not.

He nodded. “I’ve only got one more year of classes to go, though, and then I start my internship, hopefully at a local school.”

Rosa Medina, the third owner and the woman he’d come to speak to, appeared seemingly from nowhere and sat down next to him. “That reminds me, have you told your mother of your plans to work at a school yet?” she asked in a pleasing accent that softened the rebuke in her eyes.

Johnny looked down and stifled a sigh. This was a sore subject. “I told her once and she had a conniption. I don’t feel the need to remind her.” His mom couldn’t understand why he’d chosen to pursue a doctorate in school psychology and had accused him of being a big kid who was simply looking for ways to never to grow up. That his motives were pure and deep-seated was not something his mother could understand, so he’d refrained from explaining himself. That had been her first fit. When she’d looked it up and seen he could still open a private practice or join a group, she’d calmed down some. Telling her he planned on working for a public school system that served mostly underprivileged kids had nearly cost him his hearing. The hysterics that could come out of his mom were legendary among her two sons and her stepson, Dan—Johnny’s oldest brother.

Sherry placed a mug of steaming dark liquid in front of him. The invigorating smell of dark roast began to revive him. Man, he was tired. Outside, a bright and breezy late spring day beckoned him to go sleep under a tree. He’d waited in front of that elevator for two hours, making sure no one got in, until the police arrived. It had given him time to try to remember the things Marty and Rosa had told him about Melinda during the last few years, to see if it fit with what he’d learned about the girl in the elevator. It hadn’t been easy. He and Marty had each been so busy. And the girl was right. Most men he knew didn’t chat. Marty could get excited about sports, business, and politics, but he didn’t just sit down for a chat about his sisters. He only made passing comments.

But some of Marty and Rosa’s comments were about how Melinda was giving acting a shot in Los Angeles. It fit in with what she’d said about wanting to do a musical. And the girl in the elevator had brown eyes and tanned skin, like all three Medina siblings, so that fit, too.

Marty’s sisters had been in town for the grand opening of Marty’s first business venture, a local hangout called Huffy’s Tavern, three months back, but he hadn’t spent any time with them. They’d been working hard at different tasks to help Marty get the place ready, and when opening night came, the place had been packed.

He tried again to conjure up what Melinda looked like, but could mostly remember Marissa, the middle one. He and Marissa had been very close for a while, united by an event that had changed their lives. They’d been in over their heads and their friendship had ended badly. He doubted Marissa would approve of him for her little sister. And if she told her family what had happened, would they? Not even Marty knew their secret . . .

Johnny tamped down the thought and the sharp pain it brought before it could derail his purpose.

He’d thought long and hard about the best, least suspicious way he could find out whether Melinda was home. “Oh,” he said, and set down his coffee as if a thought had
just
occurred to him. He glanced up at Rosa. “I think I saw someone who looked like Melinda yesterday, but it was dark. I might be wrong.” It was all technically true.

Rosa’s eyes lit up like the doting grandma she was. “Oh, it must’ve been her! She was going to some sort of costume ball up in Columbus.”

Johnny’s heart began beating wildly. What now? Luckily, Ruby took an interest, too. “That sounds like fun. What did she dress up as?”

“I’m not sure. She took the traditional Puerto Rican skirt and shirt I gave her a few years ago with her, and said she’d add some accessories and make a costume out of it. She sent her mom a picture later on and she looked like a shepherdess,” Rosa answered with a shrug.

Johnny tried to look as if the information had no effect on him, but inside, he was reeling. He’d seen the traditional costumes Rosa was referring to at the yearly Hispanic festival. It was exactly like the dress the girl in the elevator had been wearing.

“She was only here a few days to explore college campuses and I barely saw her this time,” Rosa added with a frown. “She left this morning.”

“Is she thinking about moving back?” Sherry asked, and Johnny sent up a silent request for blessings for both Sherry and Rosa. They were making things easy for him. Rosa was sharp. He couldn’t ask too many questions himself.

“Oh. Are things still not looking up for her in Los Angeles?” Ruby asked in sympathetic, grandmotherly tones. Johnny never thought he’d see the day he’d be grateful for their nosy ways.

Rosa sighed. “No. Competition is brutal over there. And the man she’s dating sounds like an
imbécil
. But she’s going to give her acting career another year before coming back to study journalism and start a community theater here. We’re hoping it will be a way for her to get her foot in the door in a related area and fill her résumé with acting jobs.”

“That’s a great idea!” Sherry exclaimed.

The excitement Johnny had been feeling spread. A dreamer with a practical streak. It was definitely her.
Melinda Medina
. Of all people. It almost seemed like fate. Did he believe in that? He didn’t know. Life was simple, beautiful, and organized, while also being complicated, ugly, and messy. Understanding people was a lot easier than understanding life.

But she’d still be far away for an entire year. A lot could happen in a year. And she hadn’t wanted to know who he was. Johnny decided to think on it later and move on to the next part of his plan, which was to change the subject before Rosa studied him too closely and noted his interest.

Ruby beat him to it. “So . . .” she began in a tone that told him she’d been watching him.

Johnny met her steady gaze.

“What kind of pie will you have?” she asked.

“Oh. Um . . .” He glanced up to the blackboard behind the counter where the daily desserts were listed in bright pink chalk. “Dark chocolate cream.”

Three pairs of eyes snapped over to him, and he suddenly felt like prey caught in the crosshairs of multiple rifles. He could almost hear the clicking of magazines being loaded.

Rosa fired first. “Dark chocolate cream pie? You never order chocolate
or
cream
anything
. You always order something in the citrus family.”

Sherry eyed him. “Something’s changed. Ruby, what is the purpose of dark chocolate cream pie?”

“Yes, tell us the meaning. It might explain why he’s here at two in the afternoon.” Rosa raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re never here at two.”

Johnny raised both his eyebrows right back at her. “I thought you didn’t believe in the meaning or purpose Ruby assigns to desserts. You’re forever going on about how it’s a marketing ploy to promote the gypsy theme,” he said as a slice of the now-ominous pie was shoved in front of him.

“You know how I feel about listening to what our bodies crave. That is biology, not magic,” Rosa said with a haughty look.

Ruby leaned over the counter with a conspiratorial air and the three women’s heads came together a little too close to his. Johnny picked up his mug and eyed them warily from above the rim.

“The Aztecs were the first to discover the aphrodisiac qualities of chocolate, and the darker the chocolate a person requested, the more they desired another person.
However
. . .” Ruby paused and three pairs of eyes locked on him. “Dark chocolate cream pie is also high in sugar and heavy cream. These things combined mean that Johnny not only desires a woman, but he’s sweet on her, too, which means it has the potential to be serious!”

Johnny sputtered. Despite all his knowledge and training, he had a wild moment when he thought Ruby really might have powers. It didn’t last. “Settle down, merry witches. You know how I hate to disappoint you, but I only chose the pie because I thought it would go well with my coffee.”

Rosa shook her head. “Dark chocolate is bitter and doesn’t pair well with espresso.”

“And the very fact that you’re willing to disappoint us instead of playing along means you’re trying to divert our attention. But it won’t work. If it isn’t your palate craving dark chocolate cream pie, it must be your soul longing for true love,” Sherry said with fake solemnity and very real mischief. Johnny threw her a look.

Rosa drew away from him, her expression serious, her eyes not leaving his. She began tapping her long, red, rhinestone-tipped fingernails on the counter. Simple math told him the woman had to be in her mid-seventies, but with her form-fitting, dark red pantsuit; high zebra-striped heels; and long, thick dark brown hair, she exuded both the strength and vitality of a person twenty years younger. The tapping became incessant.

“You saw my granddaughter yesterday.” Rosa’s formerly pleasing accent now sounded clipped and abrupt. “If she is the one who has you craving this pie, or anything else, I will gut your insides with these nails and have Marty bake them in that new wood-fired pizza oven he can’t stop talking about. Metaphorically, of course. You understand?”

Johnny resisted the urge to fold his hands over his stomach. He could almost feel the sharp little rhinestones slicing it up. It took all he had to offer her his most irresistible smile. “I hear you.” Also technically true.

“Don’t be so overly dramatic, Rosa.” Sherry came to his defense. “He said he only caught a glimpse of her, and he was out on a hot date.”

He’d said nothing about his date being hot, but he wasn’t about to deny it.

“And you can’t threaten to cut out his insides, you love him like a grandson,” Ruby pointed out.

Johnny cast a hurt look Rosa’s way.

Rosa turned to look at Sherry and Ruby. “Think about this grinning, angel-eyed, notorious heartbreaker here with any of
your
grandkids and let me know how it makes
you
feel. When I think about all the times he’s asked me for advice on letting some girl down easily . . .”

“Oh! And the stalker-repellant perfume he’s always begging Holly to create,” Ruby added, mentioning her own granddaughter, who owned a micro-perfumery down the street.

“And all the ‘it’s-not-you-it’s-me’ desserts he’s asked us to whip up.” Sherry studied him through narrowed eyes. Johnny stuffed a forkful of pie into his mouth and kept his gaze steady and wide. Experience had taught him to look innocent and say nothing when the three women ganged up on him. “But maybe we’re being too hard on him.” Sherry reached out to pat his free hand. Finally, someone on his side. “We know it’s never your intention, but something about you wreaks havoc where women are concerned. We all love you like you were our own grandson and we don’t ever want to see you hurt, but we don’t want to see you wreak that havoc on anyone else we love, either.”

Johnny felt torn. In the short time he’d spoken to Melinda, he’d felt a stronger and more intimate connection to her than he’d ever felt with any other woman, and he wanted to explore that before life and the
imbécil
got in the way. But it
had
only been a short while, her life right now was in California, and he didn’t even know if she’d felt anything deeper than an attraction. She’d run away, after all.

What could he do? Tell Rosa and Marty that he’d talked to Melinda for less than an hour, but had a strong feeling there was something there, and then fly off to California to see if she felt the same, fight off her potential knight, and then risk having her place a restraining order against him for being a creepy stalker? And even if she did feel the same, would lifelong friendships be at stake if they tried something and it didn’t work out? Long distance relationships were notoriously difficult, and they barely knew each other as it was. Both scenarios would make him look like an intentional havoc-wreaker.