Sweet Indulgences 2 (2 page)

The flowers? He was more interested in the flowers than in her? Anne’s heart sank, but she forced a smile. “Aren’t they lovely?”

She heard another ping. The courier said, “Could you hold the elevator for a sec? I’ll be right back.”

Her new acquaintance said, “Glad to,” and reached for the button. “Your husband has good taste,” he said to Anne.

Oh, yes! She felt like grinning from ear to ear. Her suit was finally working, and the man really
was
interested. And so was she. She couldn’t remember when she’d felt so attracted to a man at first meeting. “No husband,” she said as the courier came back on.

“Then the flowers are—”

Another ping. “Thirty-four,” the man said. “Your floor.”

Regretfully she moved forward. “No boyfriend either,” she murmured over her shoulder, only to find him following her.

“My floor too,” he said.

The reception desk was directly in front of them. A redhead gazed up expectantly. Anne’s companion seemed to assume this was her office because he touched her arm and said, “Would you wait a minute?” Then he addressed the receptionist. “I’m here for Anita d’Amato.”

Anne gasped. “You’re Tony!”

He turned to her. “How did you—? Oh, you know my mother?”

She shook her head and thrust the flowers toward him. “No, I work on the fourth floor. My name is Anne Damian. The florist’s delivery man got confused.”

He took the bouquet. “You mean, the florist delivered my mother’s flowers to you on Valentine’s Day?” His eyes sparkled even brighter than before.

“They made a mistake,” she said, counting her blessings for that mistake.

“A very lucky mistake.” He beamed at her. “So, Anne Damian, who doesn’t have a husband or boyfriend, does that mean you don’t have plans for dinner tonight?”

She shook her head, hoping with all her heart that Tony d’Amato would ask her out. Earlier, she’d thought about new lovers whose smiles were full of hope and promise. Might she and this man—

“Tony!” A female voice interrupted her train of thought.

Anne turned to see a striking dark-haired woman in a stylish green dress hurry across the reception area. Quickly Tony thrust the flowers back at Anne so he could greet her—presumably his mother—with a big hug. When the woman emerged from his embrace, she gazed curiously at Anne. “And this pretty young lady in red is . . .”

“Anne Damian. Anne, this is my mother, Anita d’Amato.”

“I’m pleased to meet you,” Anne said, holding out the flower arrangement. “These are yours. They were delivered to me by mistake.”

Mrs. d’Amato took the flowers. “Thank you, dear.” She shook her head. “I’m confused. You got my flowers, and you’re with Tony, and . . . um, who are you again?”

Tony laughed. “We met in the elevator, Mama. She works in the building. She’s an interior designer, and she’s also my dinner date.” He turned to Anne with that engaging, hopeful smile of his. “If she’ll accept.”

“I’d love to have dinner with you, Tony,” Anne said happily. “I even know a restaurant that isn’t booked up.”

“This is definitely my lucky day.”

“And mine.” Her gaze met his, and she couldn’t look away.

Mrs. d’Amato cleared her throat, and they both turned to look at her. Her eyes were shining. “You met today? Valentine’s Day? Well, if that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is.”

I don’t know either
, Anne thought. She’d never again doubt the power of her lucky red suit.

Then another thought struck her. If she and Tony got along as well as she thought they were going to, Valentine’s Day would always be the anniversary of their first date!

When the phone rang, Margo put down the book of wallpaper samples. “Margo Channing here,” she said in her best professional tone.

“Michael Channing here,” a deep male voice responded.

“Daddy!” she cried happily.

“Hi, sweetheart. Did I catch you in the middle of something?”

Her home office was a jumble of samples. “I’ve got a client who wants to turn the loft of a warehouse into Renaissance Italian.”

“Do a ceiling mural, à la Michelangelo,” her father said promptly.

She gave a burble of laughter. “If it featured nude men, she’d probably go for it.”

“So, business is good?”

It had been less than a year since she’d left the interior design firm and struck out on her own. “It’s coming along. Thanks for referring the Dennisons.”

“I like it when you design the inside of a home we’ve created.” Her father’s architecture firm specialized in creating unique but affordable residences. “But as to why I called, I wondered if you had any plans for Valentine’s Day.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Nope. For the first time in eight years, I’ll be staying home.” Since she and her husband broke up eight months ago, she hadn’t felt like dating.

“Then how about letting your old man take his favorite daughter for dinner?”

“Daddy, your
only
daughter would love it.” Her mother had died four years ago and her father hadn’t shown any inclination to enter into a new relationship.

“Any particular place strike your fancy?”

Hmm. Four years was a long time. Surely her father was ready to meet a nice woman. “I know a wonderful little Italian place, Giacondi’s.” Margo loved the restaurant and had struck up a friendship with the widowed owner, Elena. Was Valentine’s Day a crazy time to think about matchmaking? Oh well, even if nothing else came of it, at least she and her dad could be assured of an excellent meal.

“I’ll make a reservation,” her father said.

* * *

Elena, dressed in a red dress that perfectly suited her Italian coloring and curvy figure, greeted them with a warm smile and showed them to a table by the window. “As you requested, Mr. Channing.”

“No need to be so formal,” Margo said. “Elena, this is my father, Michael. And Daddy, this is Elena Giacondi, a good friend of mine.”

After Elena had departed to greet the next guests, Margo’s father said, “I’m afraid this is a bit of a comedown. Eating with your dad on Valentine’s Day.”

She glanced around the room, then back at him. “I’m eating with the most handsome man in the room.” And it was true. With his full head of silver-streaked hair, his strong features, and his rangy body, he was definitely a good looking man. And a perfect complement to the vibrant Elena.

“You know what I mean. You and Joe always went out on Valentine’s Day.”

“As did you and Mom. But things have changed. To be honest, it’s Mom I miss more. Joe and I . . . We really did stop loving each other. We got married before we knew ourselves, much less each other.”

When he opened his mouth she said, “I know. You and Mom told me. But I thought I knew my heart.”

“Sweetheart, at twenty-one it’s hard to know your own heart. Your mom and I were your age now when we met. Old enough to know we’d found something special that would last.”

“I wish you’d had longer together.”

“I have no regrets, just wonderful memories. And now, let’s order some red wine and we’ll drink a toast to your mother. Somewhere, she’s smiling down on us.”

As the evening progressed, and Elena Giacondi dropped by their table more than once to exchange laughing comments with her father, Margo had the sense that her mother really
was
smiling. Theresa Channing had been a warm, generous woman; she wouldn’t have wanted Michael to spend the rest of his life alone.

As she and her father ate, they exchanged news about their jobs.

“Did I tell you about our new architect?” he asked. “His name is Scott Winston. He was with one of the bigger places, doing cookie-cutter developments, but that’s not where his interests lie. I put him on my team for the Solerno Heights project and I’m very impressed, not only by his skills but by his general approach. He listens and he’s got an intuitive understanding of what people really want. The same way you do, sweetheart, with your own clients.”

Later, when Elena came along to offer dessert, Margo said, “I know it’s a busy night, but is there any chance you’d be able to join us?”

“I do not want to intrude.”

“Of course you wouldn’t be intruding,” her father said. “Please join us.”

Elena studied his face carefully then said, “I think perhaps I will. Let me just attend to a few details first.”

After Elena bustled toward the kitchen, Margo’s father said, “You’re grinning like the cat that swallowed the canary. Was this a set-up?”

“You’re the one who invited me for dinner.”

“That wasn’t a denial.” He shook a finger at her in a mock reprimand, then suddenly began to laugh.

“What? Is it really so funny that I’d want my father to meet a nice lady?”

He shook his head, laughing so hard he couldn’t speak. When he finally calmed down he said, “Sometime I’ll tell you why I was laughing.” He glanced at his watch, then out the window.

“You’re not in a hurry to go, are you?”

“Not at all.”

She glanced out too, and noticed a man coming along the sidewalk, walking a dog. “Oh look, a chocolate Lab. What a pretty dog.”

“Good heavens,” her father said, “that’s Scott!” He rapped on the window to catch the man’s attention. When he had, he beckoned a finger. The man—Scott—made a gesture of protest, but her father beckoned again.

“Daddy . . .”

“I’d like you to meet him, sweetheart.”

Outside, the man tied his dog’s leash to a streetlamp then headed toward the entrance of the restaurant. When he stepped inside, she got her first good look at him, and straightened in her chair. Her father had said lots of complimentary things about Scott Winston, but hadn’t mentioned how handsome he was. He was tall, broad-shouldered yet lean, and his dark hair swept back from his face and brushed his shoulders. Some people would say he needed a haircut, but Margo had always been partial to long hair, especially when it framed strong, masculine features.

“Michael.” Scott came forward with a hand outstretched. Her father stood and the two men shook hands, just as if they hadn’t seen each other at work a few hours ago. Margo grinned at the masculine habit, as Scott said, “I’m interrupting your meal.”

“Nonsense. Scott, I want you to meet my daughter, Margo.”

Now Scott turned to her, and again held out his hand. She reached out and put hers into it, expecting a firm handshake, but instead he just held her hand gently, then lifted his other hand to cup hers between his two palms. “Margo. I’ve seen your picture in Michael’s office, but it doesn’t do you justice.”

She felt color flame on her cheeks. “Thank you. Daddy’s been telling me what a welcome addition you are to the firm.”

“He’s too kind.”

“Ah, I see we are now four.” It was Elena, coming up behind Scott.

“I was just leaving,” Scott said.

“Join us for dessert,” her father said.

“Only if that’s all right with Margo,” Scott said.

This was the first time in a very long time that she’d found herself wanting to get to know a man. “Please do.”

Soon the four of them were seated around the small table, eating rich tiramisu and drinking strong Italian coffee. Margo watched her father and Elena as they began the first steps of the “getting to know you” dance.

Scott said quietly, “So your father’s been talking about me. He’s told me a lot about you too.”

There was the tiniest hint of . . . something in his voice. A secret he wasn’t about to reveal? And then the penny dropped. “He has, has he? Such as, perhaps, the fact that we were dining here tonight?”

Scott threw back his head and laughed. “He did tell me you were intuitive.”

“This was a set-up.”

“Are you complaining?” It was her father’s voice, breaking in.

She grinned. “No, I suppose I’m not. Any more than you are.”

He chuckled. “You asked what I was laughing about, earlier on? When I found out you had arranged for me to meet Elena? Well, I was just thinking, ‘like father, like daughter.’”

And was it possible that both father and daughter had found happy new beginnings on this Valentine’s eve?

Outside Carol’s office door, two young secretaries boasted about their plans for the evening. Carol shoved aside a stack of invoices and scrawled a reminder:
Buy a card
. She should have done it at noon, but she’d grabbed a sandwich and worked at her desk, scrambling to meet a deadline.

Valentine’s Day. How had it become just another chore on a list?

She remembered the first year with Will. They’d been dating for three months and she was head over heels. She left a long-stemmed red rose on the seat of his car in the parking lot at the high school where he taught. Students saw it and teased him unmercifully. He loved it! That night he took her out for a special dinner at a Greek restaurant, where they talked about how much they both enjoyed holidays in the sun.

After, she invited him in for a cup of coffee. He said yes, then asked her how she’d like to go to Greece on their honeymoon.

It was a kind of backwards way of proposing, but incredibly romantic all the same. And it had made Valentine’s Day a special holiday for them.

Carol sighed. Maybe she should be more imaginative this year. Perhaps buy an anniversary card instead of a Valentine’s Day one? But would Will even get the point, that it was the anniversary of their engagement? After all, their wedding—followed by a honeymoon in the Greek islands—had been in September.

She remembered that honeymoon as if it were yesterday. Talk about romantic! The long strolls along beautiful beaches, holding hands and talking about everything in the world. The even-longer evenings, lingering over dinner and drinks at outdoor restaurants, gazing into each other’s eyes.

Romantic. Now, there was a word that seemed to have gone missing from their relationship. When was the last time they’d even gone for a walk together, much less out for dinner? The last time Will had complimented her on her appearance or given her a gift that wasn’t purely practical?

Could it be that her husband no longer found her attractive?

On impulse, Carol hurried to the ladies room and stared into the mirror. Was she unattractive now that she’d raised a couple of kids and passed her forty-fifth birthday? So what if she had a few wrinkles? She and her girlfriends agreed they preferred faces with character.