“I’m fine,” she practically snapped. The only thing wrong with her was that she needed to spend less time talking to flowers and more time with living, breathing men, because her brain was still hung up on that bed thing.
He leaned in even farther to look at her, as if he could see right into the neural pathways of her mind.
Yikes. She eased away, thankful for the arrival of the waitress, and ordered tea for Brenda and herself. Jack asked for coffee.
When the woman left, he said abruptly, “You’re mad at me.”
“Excuse me?”
Jack had lain awake most of the night, due to a combination of jet lag and racing thoughts rather than lilacpaint-induced nausea. At 3:00 a.m., he’d turned his mind to Callie, and concluded that getting annoyed at her was counterproductive, given he needed her cooperation.
“I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you at the shop,” he said. No woman liked to think she was forgettable. He should have realized that earlier.
“You think I’d get mad about something like that?” She gave a toss of her nut-brown hair, which must have highlights in it, the way it caught the light and glinted gold where it touched her shoulders. “I took it as a compliment. I figured I’m a big improvement over the last time you saw me.”
She was definitely ticked off. Unused to her brand of challenge—though he suspected he’d be getting used to it pretty fast—he drummed his fingers on the table. “If I say yes, I insult you as you were then, and if I say no, I’ll insult you today.”
“Which one’s it going to be?” she asked.
Jack laughed, suddenly relaxing. Okay, so Callie was moody, but she was harmless. And funny. Diana, Jack’s recently departed girlfriend, was a sophisticated, successful pediatrician, but she didn’t have much of a sense of humor. Especially not about Jack’s secret marriage.
Which brought him back to why he’d wanted to pick his mom up from this afternoon’s dress fitting.
He’d completed the first item on his agenda: apologize for not recognizing Callie. He was willing to do number two, if necessary: soothe any feathers he might have ruffled by hogging the limelight with his parents. Jealousy was the other possible explanation for her snarkiness that had occurred to him in the middle of the night.
“How about we call a truce?” he said. Item number three.
Callie looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. “I don’t want us to argue.”
Even better, they were on the same wavelength. “Good,” he said briskly. On to item number four. “We need to meet with a lawyer about the divorce. Can you make time tomorrow? And do you have anyone in mind?”
Her head bobbed at the change of subject. A frown put a little line above the bridge of her nose. “I don’t think it’s wise to see someone local. They’re all members of Rotary and know your dad. I use a firm in Memphis for my loans. We could go there.”
“Are they okay?”
She wrinkled her nose again, which somehow drew Jack’s attention to her lips, full and pinky-red. “They’re good value. And they’re right across the road from my bank.”
He tsked. “Imagine if people chose their doctor that way—cheap and handy to the bank.”
“No one would do that. Doctors are much more important than lawyers.” Her eyes were wide and innocent.
Jack was torn between amusement and exasperation. Callie had a mischievous streak a mile wide. Lucy would be the same, if she were still alive. He put the thought aside.
“I have a buddy in Memphis who had an irregular marriage situation,” he said.
She snickered at his choice of words.
“I’ll call him,” Jack said, ignoring her. He saw his mom emerge from the restroom. “I’ll find out who he used, set up a meeting.”
“I’ll leave it with you,” Callie said.
Mission accomplished.
BY THE TIME THEY GOT Brenda home, there was no trace of tears. She confessed to Dan that she’d had “one of my turns, sweetie, but I’m all right now.”
“Not again,” Dan said. Callie wondered if Jack noticed that his father’s impatience bordered on rudeness. And that Brenda’s repeated apology had a take-it-or-leave-it-edge.
Callie left. Jack called later to say he’d arranged for them to meet his friend’s lawyer in Memphis the next evening. For a guy who paid so little attention to his family, he was taking quite an active interest in their divorce.
The drive to Memphis took nearly three hours, so it would be a late night and Callie would have to close Fresher Flowers early, at four.
Closing early meant hustling her Monday afternoon regulars—a mother whose toddler loved to sniff the flowers; two elderly men; three women who circled the shop together complaining about the prices—out the door before they were ready.
As she tried to shepherd them out without being rude, Jack pulled up in the black Jaguar. He got out of the car, frowning when he saw the Open sign in her window.
Callie frowned back.
He observed the departing shoppers’ empty hands. “Did any of those people buy anything?”
“Not this time.” Callie brushed at the lily pollen on her skirt, even though experience told her she needed to lift it off with sticky tape, then hang the skirt out in the sun. Predictably, the yellow streaks didn’t budge from the white cotton. “I get a few people coming here because they find flowers restful, or the scent brings back memories,” she said. “And those old men…I think they’re lonely.”
“So is bankruptcy. There was no one in here last time I came, either.”
“You were here and you spent a hundred dollars,” she said acerbically. “As far as I’m concerned your money’s as welcome as anyone else’s.”
Jack held up his hands in a butting-out gesture. “What do we need to do to get out of here?” Oh, yeah, we’re having a truce.
Together, they brought in the tubs of flowers from outside. Jack’s clothing was immaculate, his jeans and long-sleeved, bronze-colored polo shirt fitting as if custom-made, but he didn’t seem concerned about the threat of pollen or other dirt. Callie chalked up a small point in his favor. His thick dark hair and chiseled cheekbones, on the other hand, were not pluses. They only encouraged women to fawn over him. When she got married for real, Callie thought, if she got married for real, she’d never find a guy as good-looking—her shallow side felt a pang of regret—but at least she’d find someone unselfish.
Jack waited while she locked up, then held the car door open for her.
The Jaguar was every bit as luxurious as it looked. Virtually no engine noise penetrated the interior; Jack pressed a button on the console and Norah Jones wafted through discreetly located speakers.
As they pulled away from the lights at the intersection of Main and Fifth, Callie waved to a group of men. One of them waved back.
“Who was that?” Jack asked.
She rolled her eyes. “Your cousin Jason.”
“Thought so.”
“With his brother, also your cousin.”
“Excellent guys,” he said.
“So excellent that you don’t remember what they look like from one day to the next.”
“Hey, I didn’t get a more than a glimpse of them just now.”
Callie cautioned herself against launching into Jack with an accusation