Snowdrop Kisses Part Fourteen
A Christmas love story featuring a plucky florist and a tall dark and handsome entrepreneur
Previously… in Part 13 Wendy gets ready for her date with Isaiah and runs into Harry Hepple on the way to club.
Chapter 27
“What do you think, Wendy, aren’t these guys awesome?”
Isaiah had to shout the question over the high-pitched wail of an electric guitar. Despite her dread, Chronic Pain was not living up to its name. In fact, she was having a good time. The club was packed with hardcore metal enthusiasts and though it was loud and sweaty, it was also fun. Isaiah was right, the band was great. She took a deep swig of the Budweiser that Isaiah had bought her, and began to mosh with the rest of the crowd.
She was hot and her feet hurt by the time the band finished their first set. The DJ came back on, and the volume lowered a smidgen.
“You want to sit down, Wendy?”
She limped behind Isaiah’s large bulk as he effortlessly cleared a path for them across the busy dance floor.
They found a small table and sat, finally giving Wendy time for a proper look at the bar. They had certainly capitalized on its name. Stylized pictures of people in various states of agony were painted on the walls. They sat beneath the image of a burly man being attacked by wild dogs, off to Wendy’s left was a silhouette of someone getting electrocuted, and she couldn’t be sure, but behind Isaiah’s head was an image that looked like a woman getting her legs waxed.
She and Isaiah talked about the band and the flower business. Their chitchat was friendly, just as it had been over dinner. Isaiah was sweet, but they didn’t have a lot to say to each other.
There was a lull in their conversation, and then Isaiah asked with studied casualness, “So, that Catriona chick. The uptight one? Is she seeing anyone?”
Wendy was flummoxed. Isaiah and Catriona seemed to hate each other. Then she remembered the appreciative way he had stared at Catriona’s chest. Maybe high-maintenance blondes were Isaiah’s thing.
“Not that I know of, although I’m not buddies with Catriona Hunt.”
“She wasn’t exactly cuddly.” Isaiah smiling at some memory and Wendy’s ego kicked in. Was every man she met always on the lookout for someone better? “Hey, you’re here with me, remember?”
Isaiah looked surprised. “I thought this was more of a friend thing, you know?”
“I’m wearing four-inch heels and a skirt so tight I can hardly breathe. If this was ‘friend thing’ I wouldn’t have shaved my legs.”
Isaiah looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I thought you and that other dude had something going.”
“Crofton?” Wendy laughed. “Nothing’s happening there. Nada. Zip. Zilch.”
“Gotcha, sorry about the confusion.” He swallowed hard. “The thing is, I like you, Wendy, but more like buddies… not romantically.”
Wendy blinked. This was a blow to the ego. She laughed awkwardly and wished the ear drum shattering music would start up again.
Isaiah spoke tentatively. “I’m sorry. Are you mad?
She considered. She wasn’t angry and aside from a bit of a dent to her pride, she wasn’t actually upset . After all, she wasn’t that attracted to him. If he wanted to pine for Catriona, she wished him well. “No. Don’t worry about it. Let’s call this a friend hang.”
They sat in companionable silence, until the clash of cymbals signalled the return of Goat Soup.
“Let’s dance.” Isaiah grabbed her hand in his big paw, and dragged her to the floor.
As Wendy swayed to the band, she made a decision. So her date with Isaiah was going nowhere. So what? She had beer, she had music and she had dancing. What else did a girl need? She bopped to the rhythm of the music, moving deeper into the crowd until she had thumped and moshed her way to the far corner of the bar, partly hidden from the rest of the room by the thrust of the stage.
The music suddenly stopped. The singer apologized, saying something about a blown speaker. Wendy turned looking for a pathway through the crowd. Her ankle twisted for a split second, and she lurched forward, banging into the woman beside her.
Red wine spilled down the woman’s front, staining her white tank top a deep, crimson red.
“I’m so sorry,” Wendy said.
The woman had short, peroxide blonde hair and a huge ring through her nose. She barely had a neck, because her shoulder muscles were thick as rope, and giant biceps burst out of the tank top, glinting so menacingly in the dim light that Wendy wondered if they’d been oiled up.
“Watch where you’re going.” Wine-Stain was furious, pulling her soaked shirt away from herself.
“I’m such a klutz,” Wendy blurted. “I’m always doing this. I dumped coffee on a guy a couple of weeks ago. I can pay for your dry-cleaning.”
The other woman ignored her and yelled to her friend. “Hey Bobbie, check out what this idiot did to me!”
Wendy gulped. Now a tall slim woman loomed over her. Bobbie had tattoos snaking up her arm and neck. She even had a tattoo on her lip. Wendy looked closer, no, that was just a moustache. The two women glared at her.
“Like I said, I’m really sorry.” Wendy gave a nervous laugh. “Let me help you get the stain out.” Even as she leaned toward the other woman’s chest with a cocktail napkin clutched in her hand, Wendy knew it was a bad idea. It was like a train wreck, though, and she couldn’t seem to stop it.
Wine-Stain grabbed her wrist before she had a chance to touch the stain. “Back off, honey.” She bent Wendy’s wrist back, ever so slightly.
“Let’s throw this idiot outside, before she does something really stupid.”
Wendy didn’t know a chuckle could be menacing.
Bending her wrist, Wine-Stain backed Wendy towards the rear wall of the club. The crowd cleared around them, a couple of people turning to stare, but most were too intent on the band, who had started up again.
Wendy walked backwards without a peep. She was concentrating on the ache in her wrist. She felt the cold metal of the fire exit handle give way as she was pushed out the door.
“Maybe the night air will teach you some manners,” Bobbie growled.
Wendy rubbed her wrist. “How am I going to get back in?” The door slammed in response.
“Great going, Wendy,” she muttered to herself. “Now what?” She assessed the situation. It looked like she was on York Street, so the entrance must be around the corner. It was freezing and she was under dressed. The wind bit into her skin and she hurried in what she hoped was the right direction, examining her wrist for any bruising. She needed to find Isaiah as soon as she got inside and they needed to go. She didn’t want to run into Bobbie and her friend again.
In her hurry she didn’t notice the person walking toward her, and she shoulder checked them. The ground was icy and the damn heels destabilized her further. “Watch it!” she cried, but it was too late. She fell down with a thud, her legs stretched straight out before her, and her hands splayed out behind.
“Wendy?” a deep male voice asked from above.
Her heart sank; of course she would bump into James Crofton right now. Of course.
Chapter 28
Wendy kept her head down, and tried for a French accent. “Who do you speak of? I know not this Wendy.”
James crouched down, staring at her. “Are you okay?”
Wendy looked up, steeling herself for his laughter. Instead, his blue eyes were dark with concern. That zing of electricity thrilled between them, almost like a physical force. Wendy’s mouth went dry, and it was all she could do to nod her head.
“Let me help you.”
She held out her hand and he pulled her up. The movement was effortless and smooth. It felt, for a moment, like they were dancing. She was standing next to him, so close she could feel the heat from his body. The heels gave her extra height, and they were almost eye-to-eye. She met his gaze. His eyes burned with the same awareness that was coursing through her body. She was so close she only needed to lean forward slightly to kiss him.
Impelled by a force beyond her control, Wendy closed her eyes and tilted her face upward, she leaned in and in that instant her soft lips felt the… What the hell was that?
She snapped her eyes open. Her lips had brushed the end of James’s nose. His eyes flew open too. They stared at one another for an instant, silently communicating in the way that only two people caught in an excruciatingly embarrassing moment can. With a flush of humiliation, Wendy realised that the heels had thrown off her aim.
She stumbled back, her legs buckling unsteadily and she leaned against a wall. James stood with a rigid back, looking shocked at what had just happened.
Oh God. He must think she was a complete and total idiot. What kind of person misses the mouth and gets the nose? The nose! It was too embarrassing.
She glanced over at him, again. A slow smile spread across his face, and soon he was laughing, great, loud guffaws that echoed down the empty street.
For an instant Wendy thought about getting mad, but the hysteria bubbled up, and her nervous chuckle turned into laughter. They laughed together, a release from the tension and an acknowledgment of the absurd.
Finally, their mirth subsided, and James breathed out, “You always surprise me.”
She wiped her eyes. Suddenly, things were serious between them, again. “James, what just happened there?”
His smile was slow and sexy. “That’s the first time you’ve called me ‘James.’ I like it.”
She smiled and she could tell that he was remembering the moment they had shared, before she botched their kiss.
“I really–-”
Whatever he had been about to say was halted by Isaiah’ striding down the sidewalk. “Wendy, I’ve been looking all over for you!”
Not now! Not now! Wendy’s mind screamed. Instead, she mumbled. “Hi, Isaiah.” She stared at the ground, unable to meet James’ eye.
“Was this guy hassling you?” Isaiah looked at James belligerently.
“No, no. This is James Crofton. You remember him from the other day?”
Isaiah stared from James to Wendy. “Oh man. I didn’t recognize you. What are you doing here?”
James didn’t look at Wendy and his voice was cold. “I’m on my way to meet a friend at the whiskey bar across the street.”
Before Wendy could speak, she heard another familiar voice. “Hello you three! What a coincidence.”
Wendy was tempted to rub her eyes in disbelief. There, in the middle of the sidewalk, came Harry Hepple, twirling his cane and grinning broadly. “I hope I’m not late, James.”
“Harry! What are you doing here?” This night was beyond Wendy now.
“I asked James to meet me for a night cap. I love a good whiskey.” He turned to Isaiah, “How was your concert, young man? Please tell me all about it.” He stepped toward the wall, drawing Isaiah away from Wendy and James.
Wendy turned her back to the pair and took a few steps away from them. “James.”
“Yes?”
His cool tone stung. “What was that all about just now?” she asked in a low voice.
He met her eyes now, and Wendy wished that he hadn’t. His look was impersonal and disinterested. “From what I can tell, you tried to kiss me while on a date with another man, but you didn’t quite pull it off. Do you want to continue discussing it?”
Wendy frowned. “I can expla-“
“I’m really not interested in what you do in your personal life.” James cut in.
Wendy stared at him. How dare he accuse her of being sleazy. She had never cheated on anyone in her life. It was outrageous that he could think so poorly of her.
James turned to Isaiah and Harry with a forced smile. “Should we go for that whiskey, Harry?”
The older man nodded. “Say, I’ve got an idea, Wendy. Why don’t you and your friend join us?”
Spend more time with that rude jerk? Wendy didn’t think so. “You know Harry, any other time I’d love to chat with you.” She emphasized the ‘you,’ “but I’m ready to get to bed.” She turned to Isaiah and smiled seductively.
Isaiah glanced from her to James. “Are you sure, Wendy? I mean, you shaved your legs. Maybe…”
Wendy glared at Isaiah. “I said I want to leave.”
James' voice was steely. “Come on, Harry, I could really use that drink.”
Wendy watched as Harry and James walked across the street. Then she accepted the support of Isaiah’s arm, and tottered off towards the car.
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I’ve written a book you might get a kick out of! THE HONEYBEE EMERALDS is a lighthearted mystery set in Paris featuring four women uncovering the secrets of a beautiful diamond and emerald necklace. A finalist for the Indy Book Awards “Best First Novel,” it’s been called a “Gem of a debut.”