Looking for You (4 page)

"As long as I can." Laurel made
a face. "My mom's working from home today."

"Ah." Gwen soothed the
girl's back. "It's hard, isn't it?"

"Tell
me about it." Shaking her head, Laurel hopped up and went to check on one
of the younger kid's drawings.

Gwen
watched Laurel. The first time she'd seen the girl, she'd recognized the look
in her eyes—the need to live up to her parents' ideal of her. She'd
instantly decided to take the girl under her wing, but sometimes she wondered
if it wasn't really Laurel who looked after her.

Glancing at
her sketch one more time, she packed up her notepad and put the charcoals away.
On her way to the office in back, she chatted with some of the children she'd
gotten to know over the summer. She needed to go open her store—it was
already past noon—but she always took time for the kids.

Besides, on
her rollerblades, it didn't take long to get to Laurel Heights from the
Mission. Twenty-five minutes, more or less, from where Purple Elephant was
located to Outta My Gourd.

The real
benefit to rollerblading: it gave her an outlet to get rid of some of her
naturally over-abundant energy. The tai chi master she'd met years ago in Oregon had shown
her how to channel and calm her "restless chi," as he called it.

Of course, back then she'd had good
reason to be restless. She'd been constantly looking over her shoulder, waiting
for the paparazzi to swoop in and smother her.

She hated the media. She had since
she'd been six when they'd labeled her the Grape Princess because she'd shown
up to a press conference with jelly on her face.

That picture had followed her into
adolescence. Worse: her father had punished her for making a mockery of the de
la Roche name. She'd felt embarrassed and shamed. And guilty, because her
favorite nanny had been fired for not making sure she'd been presentable.

To this day, thinking about it made
her tense.

But she didn't have to deal with the
press any longer. She'd done a good job disappearing, changing her name and
appearance. She'd become Gwendolyn Pierce, bohemian. No one connected rainbow-haired
Gwen to the missing Grape Princess. She doubted even her mother would recognize
her if they were in the same room.

Of course, her mother probably
wouldn't recognize her regardless. Being a parent hadn't been high on Janine's
list of priorities. Why would she trouble herself with a dirty job like
mothering when she had a team of nannies at her beck and call?

"That's the last thing I need to
think about right now," she said to herself as she bladed up Sacramento
Street. Talk about getting agitated.

To distract herself, on impulse she
rolled into Grounds for Thought. A croissant, and then she swore she'd open the
store.

It was past the noon rush, but Eve's
café was still busy. Eve was a natural marketing whiz. Gwen had learned a lot
from her in the time they'd known each other.

Actually, if it hadn't been for both
Eve and Olivia, she'd have been floundering. They'd taken her under their wings
and shown her how to be a businesswoman. Olivia had been the one who'd
introduced her to Rick.

And Rick had kissed the breath out of
her last night.

"Don't go there," she
muttered as she wheeled in. She skated over to the counter, where Olivia was talking
to Eve. "Can anyone join?"

"No, but you're not
anyone
." Eve smiled in welcome,
tucking her sleek blond hair behind her ear. "You look flushed. From
rollerblading?"

"Yes," she lied as she gave
Olivia a hug. Under no circumstance was she telling them she was blushing from
X-rated thoughts about Rick—or that his kiss had rocked her world. Especially
since it was never happening again.

Her friend held her out at arm's
length. "You look different."

She put her hand to her lips. Did it
show? It wouldn't surprise her—she still felt the press of his mouth to
hers. "I changed my hair color last week," she offered hopefully.

"Why are you blushing like
that?" Olivia studied her shrewdly. "You look guilty."

"Maybe she had a rendezvous with
a man," Eve joked.

Gwen's face burned hotter.

"Oh. My. God." Gaping,
Olivia set her coffee mug down. "You
did
.
Is that where you've been all morning? Who is he?"

"No one. If I'm flushed, it's
because I just came from the Purple Elephant." Then, for good measure, she
improvised with, "And I'm excited about a new project."

"A new series of gourds?"
Eve asked.

Thinking about the drawing she'd
inadvertently done at the center, she nodded. "I think it'll be a hit."

The women exchanged a look.

She laughed. "No, I'm not
planning another Jerry Garcia tribute. You made me see it wasn't such a great
idea."

Eve smiled. "It was mostly the
giant tie-dye inflatable gourd on your roof that we thought was a
mistake."

Not all her ideas were winners, but
at least she tried. Her grandmother had taught her that.
Try everything, Geneviève
, Mamie Yvette used to tell her.
Grab life by the tail and hold on tight.
It's a grand adventure
.

"What's this new idea?"
Olivia asked.

She shook herself out of the past.
"Something different." Impulsively, she added, "The de Young
Museum asked to include me in an exhibit. They want me to do a gourd series
inspired by the gourds of the early American natives. I sketched a design
that'll work nicely for it."

"That's amazing." Eve's
eyes lit up, and it was obvious her brain kicked in with all the possibilities.
"That'll put you on the map. Just think of all the good PR that'll result.
I'll help you send out press releases."

Olivia nodded. "Make sure it's
part of your contract that they'll sell some of your gourds in the museum gift
store. It'll get your name out there."

She swallowed the flare of anxiety at
the idea of publicity. She wanted the recognition for her artwork, but she
didn't want notoriety. "I haven't accepted the offer yet."

Both women frowned but it was Olivia
who spoke. "You have to accept. How is this even a debate? How many
artists get a chance like this?" 

She nodded. "I know,
but..."

"There is no
but
." Olivia stared at her.
"What's going on really?"

Before she could reply, the front
door jingled, signaling someone's entry. She glanced over her shoulder and
froze as Rick strode toward them.

Actually, it was more of a prowl than
a stride, the gait of a jungle cat stalking prey. At that moment, based on the
way his dark eyes were eating her up, she guessed she was the prey.

The tingling in her lips started
again. Nerve damage? She swallowed and pressed her fingers to her mouth.

"Am I interrupting a coven
meeting?" He gave Olivia a kiss on the cheek but kept his gaze on Gwen.

Her feet slipped from under her and
she had to catch her balance on the counter. Now that she knew how devastating
those lips were, she was shocked that Olivia didn't crumble to the ground.

Olivia gave her a quizzical look.
"You okay, Gwen?"

"Sure," she squeaked. She rolled
away some more, just in case. "I need to get going."

"But you haven't gotten anything
yet," Eve said, her brows furrowed in concern. "A croissant like
usual?"

Coming in for one of Eve's croissants
was part of her morning ritual. She loved them—they were the best she'd
had this side of the Atlantic. They reminded her of the croissants their cook
Jean-Marie used to make for her and her brother, Roger, fresh every morning.
"Yes, please."

"And chai?"

"Yes, to go." She hated
coffee, not because of the taste but because her father had drunk coffee. The
smell reminded her of the way he'd criticized all of them, especially her,
first thing every morning. Of course, now she understood why he was hardest on
her, and, frankly, she couldn't blame him. It couldn't be easy to find out your
child wasn't biologically yours, especially for a man like Gautier de la
Roche.

That was her family's skeleton in the
closet. The de la Roche's were excellent at keeping secrets.

"You haven't been in your store
all day," Rick said. He sounded casual, but she could tell he wasn't. Why
was he looking for her?

To kiss her again?

Right
, Laurel
would say. He probably hadn't given their kiss any more thought. So she arched her
brow coolly, trying to show how unaffected she was, even though she was
anything but. "What are you accusing me of?"

"Only guilty people are
paranoid," he retorted.

"Children," Olivia chided
mildly. "Mind your manners."

Gwen pointed at him. "He started
it."

Rick snorted.

Eve handed her the croissant and
chai. "It's on me, this morning, Gwen. A pre-celebration for you accepting
the offer from the de Young."

"You're doing it?" Rick
asked, crossing his arms.

His tone set her teeth on edge. He
obviously didn't believe in her talent. She lifted her chin. "I'm still
thinking about it."

"She's doing it." Olivia
gave her a stern look. "You'll call them and accept when you go back to
your shop."

Eve turned to Rick. "You know
about Gwen's offer from the de Young?"

"I'd heard about it," he
replied carefully. "It seems like a long shot."

Gwen rounded on him, sloshing some of
the chai on her hand when her skates got away from her. Shaking it off, she
glared at him. "Just because you don't understand art doesn't mean the
people at the museum won't either."

"Princess, if pumpkins were art,
then Halloween would be year-round."

She rolled to him and poked a finger
in his chest. "You're an imbecile."

"You're—"

"I'm doing it," she
declared brashly, poking him again just because she wanted to feel his chest.
Firm. He must work out. "And I'm going to win the honor, and then you'll
eat your words."

"What's going on with you
guys?" Olivia looked back and forth between the two of them. "I don't
know whether to give you time out or to send you to a room to work out the
tension."

Gwen's gaze shot to Rick's. He was
remembering last night too—she could see it in the way his dark eyes
heated up. Her breath caught in her chest, and she swore her lips began to
throb. Her creative mind pictured being in a room with him all too well.

The image made her so flustered, the
only words that came to her were in her native French. She had to breathe and
calm herself before she could say, in English, "I wouldn't enter a bedroom
with him if my life depended on it."

"And yet you took a ride from me
last night," he countered.

"Because you wouldn't leave me
alone!" She turned imploringly to Eve and Olivia. "He all but forced
me into his car."

Her two friends goggled at her.

Olivia was the first to recover.
"You gave Gwen a ride home, Rick?"

He scowled. "She was
rollerblading home in a torrential downpour. Who does that?"

"Me." Gwen lifted her chin
proudly. "I've been completely on my own for a long time and doing just
fine. I don't need anyone to take care of me."

He snorted again.

She narrowed her gaze. "I'm
going to prove you wrong about the museum, you know."

"Princess, if your pumpkins win,
I'll eat one."

"I'll start looking up recipes
for you then." With a cool nod at Eve and Olivia, she bladed out of
Grounds for Thought. She'd show him.

She stalled for a moment, thinking of
the press, but she shook it off. No one would put together that funky, bohemian
Gwendolyn Pierce was really Geneviève de la Roche, the Grape Princess. There
was no reason to connect her with the wine heiress she'd once been.

She'd show him. She'd show everyone.
She'd show the world who she really was.

Like every evening at Durty Nelly's,
his favorite Irish pub in the city, it was hopping with the regulars who poured
in after work. Usually, Rick chatted with them while he waited for his buddy Treat
to arrive. Tonight he stared unseeing at the untouched pint before him.

He couldn't get that woman out of his
mind.

Gwendolyn Pierce, a walking
contradiction. Artist who lived in a gentrified neighborhood. Businesswoman
with expensive overhead. Free-loving hippie chick who kissed like it was her
last night on earth.

Established shop owner who didn't
exist beyond seven years ago.

"Hey." Treat pulled out the
bar stool next to him. "You just get here?"

"No."

Treat arched a brow at the beer.
"Are you as lovesick as Eve believes you are?"

He recoiled. "What?"

"She and Olivia are operating under
the assumption that you're jonesing for Gwen Pierce." Treat signaled the
bartender.

"That woman is a menace."

"I've always thought she was
sweet."

"Sweet?
Gwendolyn Pierce
?" He snorted.

"She seems eccentric from what
I've seen. It takes a special person to make a go at selling gourd art. But Eve
likes her, and Eve is a good judge of character." Treat nodded to the
bartender who pushed the beer toward him. "But you're a sound judge of
character, too. Do you think there's something wrong with her?"

"What
isn't
wrong with her?" Lifting his Guinness, he took a hefty
gulp. Then he said, "I ran a background check on her."

"Uh-oh."

"What does that mean?"

"Remember Brandy Welles in
college?"

Hell yes, he remembered Brandy. She'd
been tall, blond, and endowed. "What about her?"

"You ran a background check on
her too." Treat arched his brow. "You found out that she'd been
adopted, only she didn't know until you told her."

"I have more finesse now."