Jingle Bell Rock (15 page)

“Finish eating,” Laura said nervously. “We have to get back to the hotel and check on Jennifer.” She gave in to the question in Michael’s eyes. “It seems we have an invisible Elvis Presley sharing our room.”

“He’s a ghost,” Megan informed them casually. “He told me so.”

Laura closed her eyes and counted to ten. When she opened her eyes she saw that Michael had a huge grin on his face. Of course he wouldn’t be disturbed by this revelation. His imagination had always been every bit as active as Megan’s was.

“I’ve heard stories about that old hotel,” he said, apparently delighted.

“Megan, there are no such things as ghosts,” Laura said sensibly, trying to paint the best possible picture of the situation for Michael. “This morning we were just pretending, remember?”

“I wasn’t pwetending,” Megan said firmly. “
You
were pwetending, but I wasn’t.”

Now was definitely not the time to spring the news.
She’s seeing ghosts. She’s yours
. Uh-uh, no way.

At that moment, a middle-aged woman in an Elvis sweatshirt plugged her quarters into the jukebox, punched in her selection, and a whirr and a heartbeat later, “You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me” came over the speakers.

Megan stood in her seat. “That’s him!” she shouted. “That’s Elbis!”

“Sit down,” Laura said softly. Everyone in the restaurant was watching as Megan jumped up and down on the padded vinyl seat of their booth. Maybe Michael and Megan liked being the center of attention, but Laura never had.

“But that’s
him
!”

“Big Elvis fan, huh?” Michael asked with a smile, and Megan quit jumping and turned to face him, nodding her head vigorously so that her silky ponytail danced. “Then maybe I should ask your mother to dance with me to this song.”

Laura was already shaking her head as Megan answered for her. “My mommy doesn’t dance.”

Michael’s smile was unfailing, smug, satisfied as always. “Yes, she does. Watch this.”

Laura’s protests were quiet, and brief, and before she knew exactly what was happening she and Michael were dancing in the small space between their booth and the arrangement of small tables. Michael had one arm securely around her waist and one hand in hers. The dance was close, but not too close, easy, but not quite as easy as it would have been five years ago. They swayed with the languid grace of two people who knew one another so well they didn’t have to think about how and when they danced. They just moved. And in a moment she forgot that people were no doubt watching and allowed herself to enjoy being in Michael’s arms.

It was hard to remember why she’d left, when he held her like this. She closed her eyes and let herself drink in the sensation of being this close to Michael; his arms around her, his legs brushing against hers, the warmth of his touch and the pleasant scent of his skin. They were good together, and they had been from the moment they met.

She could so easily forget where she was, why she was here. Her eyes drifted open. Michael gave her a grin that was not as easy as she’d expected. She could see the strain there, in the set of his mouth and the slight narrowing of his eyes. He was usually so open, so easy to read, but right now she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. She’d been away too long.

“What are you doing tonight?” he asked softly.

Laura shook her head. “Nothing.” She could see the beat of his pulse in his neck, feel the fingers that moved ever so slightly at the small of her back. They were close, so very close.

“How about dinner?” he asked, and there was a flash of doubt in his eyes, as if he thought she might say no. “I made reservations at Jackie’s Place. It’s a lot nicer than this joint.”

“I like this joint,” she whispered. “But sure, Jackie’s Place sounds great.” Anywhere would be great. A peanut butter sandwich in an alley would sound great right now, if Michael was there.

The music ended, Michael dropped his arms, and just like that her reason returned. She hadn’t come here to rekindle an old flame that was obviously still flickering. Flickering, hell—it was more like an inferno, and that could be very dangerous to her current state of mind.

Tonight, over dinner, she’d tell him about Megan. He’d probably hate her then, for having kept the secret for so long. She’d better enjoy his smiles while he was being generous with them.

Megan was standing on her seat and clapping as Laura and Michael took their seats. “Yeah!” she said as she plopped back into her seat. “Mommy
can
dance.”

Michael winked at Megan, and his smile was easy once again. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

Laura felt like the biggest coward in the world, watching Michael and wishing with all her heart that he would look at Megan and see the truth, wishing that somehow he would just suddenly understand. Maybe he’d notice Megan’s long fingers, or her Arnett eyes, or wonder how any child of Laura Marlow’s could be blessed, or cursed, with such an imagination.

Anything to save her from the confession she was going to have to make.

Chapter Four

Michael was going to meet her in the lobby in fifteen minutes, and she wasn’t nearly ready. She’d made a quick trip down the street this afternoon and bought herself a new outfit for the occasion, deeming everything she owned unsuitable. Now she was having second thoughts. Why had she chosen black when Michael rarely wore anything else? Together they’d look like they were headed to a funeral.

But the classic little black dress did took better than anything else she’d found, and she was running out of time. It would have to do.

“Michael, I have something important to tell you,” she whispered, practicing again. “Do you like Megan?” Goodness, what if he said no? Then what would she do? That was probably not the way to begin, either.

As Laura finished with her makeup and stepped into heels that were really too high for walking on Beale Street, she listened to the muffled sound of the television in the other room. Megan and Jennifer were munching on cheeseburgers from the Hound Dog Cafe, and she’d already told them that tonight’s meeting might run a little late.

Wishful thinking?

When she opened the bathroom door, she was greeted by a cozy sight. Jennifer was sprawled across her bed, engrossed in a movie, her half-eaten cheeseburger in her hands and a canned soda on the table beside her. Megan had eaten most of her dinner, and was—dear God—talking softly to the red velvet chair again.

Megan spun around, and Jennifer pulled her eyes away from the movie as Laura stepped from the bathroom.

“I’ll probably be late,” Laura said as she grabbed her coat from the closet. Maybe if she said it forcefully enough and often enough it would come true. “Y’all get to sleep at a reasonable time. Call if you need me.”

Megan jumped up and down several times, her ponytail bouncing behind her. “Elbis says you’re a knockout,” she said when she stopped jumping.

“Tell Elvis I said thank you very much.”

“He can hear you, Mommy,” Megan said with an air of indignant four-year-old frustration.

Jennifer was so accustomed to Megan’s imaginary friends she hadn’t so much as blinked at the appearance of the ghostly Elvis in their hotel room. She scrambled from the bed, dropping her cheeseburger onto a napkin on the end table as she stood. As Laura passed her on the way to the door, Jennifer whispered, “There’s no client, is there?”

Laura felt like a kid caught sneaking out of the house. “No,” she admitted. “I’m sorry, I should have told you the truth.”

Jennifer just smiled, apparently not at all distressed that Laura had lied about the reason for their Memphis trip. “I knew you wouldn’t get dressed up like this for somebody who’s looking for an accountant.” She kept her voice low. “Good luck.”

Laura sighed as she left the girls to their movie and cheeseburgers and ghost.
Good luck
. Those final words of loving kindness were more appropriate than Jennifer would ever know.

***

Laura had her arm through his as they walked toward Jackie’s Place, her head down and tilted toward him to ward off the cold wind that whipped up all of a sudden. Soft hair, golden even in the glare of harsh streetlights and flashing neon, rose and fell gently with the breeze.

Tonight he would ask her to stay. True, she’d been back in his life for only one day, but it was long enough for him to be sure that he wanted—and needed—her back. If he’d been more sure of himself five years ago he never would have let her go. He would’ve chased her down and made her see that they could make it work. But he’d had doubts of his own, he had to admit. It wasn’t until after she was gone that he’d realized living without Laura was much more difficult than living with her.

They stepped into Jackie’s Place, a long, narrow restaurant crowded with tables and ferns. The lights were dim, the soft music that played in the background was jazz, and the place was packed, as always. Small tables placed close together crowded the downstairs portion. The more private, more exclusive tables were on the second floor on a wide gallery that looked over the main room.

The hostess, Jackie’s sister Anita, smiled widely when she saw him. Michael crossed his fingers and hoped that Jackie had clued Anita in on the plan.

“Mr. Arnett,” she said, her husky Southern accent more pronounced even than Jackie’s. “Your table is ready.”

He and Laura fell into line behind Anita, but they hadn’t taken two steps before Jackie appeared out of nowhere, his scowl in place, his eyes narrowed.

“I’ll show Mr. Arnett to his table,” he said in a deep and somehow sinister voice. “We need to have a word.”

Jackie led the way to the narrow stairway, silent and imposing. When he had seated them at an upstairs corner table, possibly the most private in the restaurant, he leaned over the table with a menacing glower directed at Michael.

“Your checks are no good here, Mr. Arnett,” he said softly, the soul of discretion. “Nor your credit cards. I hope you came prepared to pay cash this evening, because I cannot allow you to wash dishes for your supper again.”

There was a twinkle in the big man’s eyes that only Michael could see, a devilish sparkle, and the sight gave him a chill. Jackie was enjoying this immensely, and he was definitely taking the charade much too far. He was supposed to avoid mentioning anything that would give away too much, and to warn the staff to do the same—not make him out to be a beggar.

“I have cash,” Michael said softly. “Do you want to see it?”

Jackie raised a stilling hand. “That will not be necessary. You’re an honest man. A poor one, but honest, just the same. Your tips must have been particularly good this past weekend.” He turned a brilliant smile to Laura. “What’s a fine woman like you doing with a piano player who doesn’t have two nickels to rub together?”

Laura’s face turned red. For a moment, Michael thought she was blushing, perhaps embarrassed. Then he saw the spark in her eyes and knew it was anger that made her face flame this way. She didn’t speak to Jackie, but turned to Michael. “Let’s have dinner somewhere else.”

“No,” he said. “The food here is good. Let’s stay.”

There was a question in her big blue eyes. Did she wonder why he would allow the man who stood over their table to insult him? Maybe. Maybe not. She’d always said he was too easygoing, too laid-back.

Jackie sighed deeply. “I have offended. you.” He raised a hand to his chest and stared down at Laura.

Laura looked squarely at the big man. “Yes, you have.”

“My most sincere apologies,” Jackie said with an unwavering grin. “It’s one of my faults, that I am so outspoken. Let me make amends by giving you dinner on the house. My treat. The house special tonight is—”

Laura turned away from him and faced Michael across the table. “I’m not even that hungry.”

“It would be my pleasure to make amends in this way,” Jackie continued. “After all, it isn’t every night that a man has such beauty”—he bowed to her—“and such talent”—he gave Michael a nod of his bald head—“in his humble establishment.”

Michael reached across the table and took Laura’s hand. She was still angry, but now she simmered instead of boiled. “Let’s stay. It’s not Jackie’s fault that he has no manners. The food here’s great.” He glanced up at a seemingly abashed Jackie. “Of course, he doesn’t cook it.” Maybe it was his smile that made her anger finally fade. The hand beneath his relaxed, and her face regained its normal color.

He ordered the most expensive thing on the menu for both of them, and Jackie answered with a harrumph and a scowl.
On the house, my butt
, Michael thought as Jackie walked away from the table. He’d end up paying for this dinner a hundred times over.

Laura didn’t say much during dinner. Twice she seemed to start to say something, and then she changed her mind and gave her attention to the seafood on her plate. She seemed shy, nervous maybe. Had the charade embarrassed her? At least he didn’t have to worry about prying eyes. The table Jackie had seated them at was exclusive, and Jackie himself served them—by way of absolution, perhaps. And then again, maybe he was just curious as to what would happen next. The saxophonist/restaurateur watched Laura closely throughout the meal, studying her, eyeing her every move closely. Once, from behind Laura’s back, Jackie had winked and given Michael the thumbs-up; it was rare praise from the skeptic.

She was picking at her dessert, poking her spoon in an untouched chocolate mousse as she spoke. “We need to talk.”

“I know.”

“A lot has happened in the past five years that you don’t know about,” she said quickly, as if she had to force the words out. “There’s Megan—” she began.

“I like her,” Michael interrupted. Did Laura think he’d let her daughter come between them?

“Do you?” Her eyes widened, questioning, hopeful.

“She’s a great kid.”

Jackie appeared suddenly, interrupting their awkward conversation to stare down at Laura’s dessert. “Is there something wrong with your mousse?” he asked with what appeared to be real concern. “I can take it away and bring you something else. The orange crepes with honey-butter sauce are fabulous.”