Love, Laughter, and Happily Ever Afters Collection (8 page)

Although there was something vaguely unsatisfying about that thought. Probably because she was a truly
nice
girl, and he wouldn’t want her to get hurt by some of those creeps out there. God, there were a lot of bad dudes on the prowl.

They got back to the sweets shop and Elizabeth, after waving to Gretchen and Nick, slipped into her car and sped away.

“Hey, my sporting man,” Nick said. “Glad you’re finally here. Over two hours with the Gretch and I’m sick to death of hearing about reality TV shows and couples falling in love on islands in the Carrib—”

Gretchen gave him a powerful slug in the arm.

“Ow.” Nick glared at her. “I totally hate it when you do that.”

“And I ‘totally hate it’ when you shoot your big mouth off without so much as a thought passing through that sports-festering brain,” she said, thrusting her ice cream scoop into a water bucket and wiping her fingers with a paper towel. Then she kissed Nick on the cheek. “Good thing I love you anyway,” she told the young man as she reached for her handbag. “Where’s Elizabeth? Did she leave already?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Rob said.

“Were you nice to her?” she asked, giving him a threatening look.

He swallowed. “I tried to be.”

Gretchen grinned. “Okay, then.” She turned toward Nick. “In that case, you can talk about sports with Rob.”

“Like I need your
permission
,” Nick said, but he blew her an air kiss.

She waved goodbye to Nick and surprised Rob by winking in his direction on her way out. This was one weird crowd Elizabeth hung with. But, he had to admit, they were growing on him.

* * * * *

“THE GUY’S DEMENTED!” Gretchen shrieked on the phone when Elizabeth explained what had transpired over the past two and a half hours. “And you’re going along with this? Someone ought to knock some sense into that—”

“Listen, Gretch, this was, without a doubt, one of Rob’s least stellar ideas, but what could I do? His mother is this warm, jovial Italian lady who hums Madonna’s ‘Lucky Star’ while she’s buttering her garlic bread. I just couldn’t make a scene in her home tonight. Not after she’d been so welcoming to me.”

Gretchen harrumphed on the line. “But you can’t possibly continue with this charade for four weeks, can you?”

Elizabeth sighed. “I doubt it. Actually, I doubt Rob will want me to. I’m betting he’ll find someone to date for real within the week, and then this whole agreement will be history. Plus, I think his brother’s on to us. But, for now, I might as well make the most of the extra writing time he’s giving me.”

“You’re really okay?” her friend asked.

“Yeah. I’m okay,” she said, collapsing into a chair and marveling at how quickly she’d grown accustomed to lying.

* * * * *

THE NEXT DAY at eleven a.m., after four straight hours of morning typing—preceded by six hours of restless sleep spent dreaming about Rob and typing, and four hours of late-night typing the day before—Elizabeth decided it was high time she took a break and peeked in on the happenings at Tutti-Frutti. Just long enough to make sure everything was running smoothly, she told herself.

But, of course, with Rob in charge, nothing was running according to
her
version of “smoothly.”

Loud music greeted her ears as she pulled into a nearby parking space.

People jammed their bodies against the windows, gawking at something inside the shop and pausing to laugh.

A line snaked its way through the doorway, passed the hedges, across the sidewalk and close to the street.

Elizabeth held her breath and plunged into the mayhem. What she saw stopped her in her sneakers.

For the first time in the shop’s forty-year history, there were jugglers—that’s right,
more than one
—making spectacles of themselves by spinning, twirling, throwing and catching colorful beanbag ice cream cones, all to the amazement and delight of the gathering Wilmington Bay crowd. It was all she could do to push her way passed the horde and begin hunting for the Gabinarri responsible for this mess.

“Th-This is crazy. What are all these people doing ins-s-side?” she hissed in Rob’s ear as he put a swirl of whipped cream on a chocolate malt.

“Having fun is not crazy. It’s a good promotional tool. Look.” He pointed with his elbow at a mom with two preschool girls. All three were eating double-decker ice cream cones and laughing at the jugglers’ antics. Then he nodded in the direction of another grouping, this time six teens, each holding either a strawberry sundae or a Neapolitan ice cream sandwich.

“B-But, Rob, this is a very small shop. I don’t know what the exact c-c-code regulations are, but I know we’re only allowed an indoor capacity of twenty-five customers.” She glanced around and tried to count heads. “There are over f-fifty people in here!”

“They’ll be out the door and on their way home soon,” he said. “But, the thing is, they’ll all come back in search of new surprises and more great-tasting ice cream. And it won’t be en masse like this. They’ll return in little clusters. They’ll talk amongst themselves and tell their friends. Slowly, our daily visitor average will increase. By the end of the month, we might even double profits. And won’t that just make your uncle and mine do a happy jig in Europe?”

He didn’t give her a chance to answer.

“Sure it will! Before long they’ll be making more money than they know what to do with. Maybe they’ll open up a branch in another Wisconsin town…or even spread their franchise into Illinois or Minnesota or Iowa. The possibilities, my little naysayer, are limitless.”

“Who hired these jugglers?”

“Nobody,” Rob said, starting on an order for a triple fudge ice cream sundae.

“They j-just came in here and started juggling by themselves? Without warning?”

He shot her an irritated look. “No, Elizabeth. The two of them dropped by for a cone and we all got to talking—”

“God, I should’ve known,” she muttered.

“—and I found out they were professional jugglers from Milwaukee, so I asked to see some of their best stunts. And they were great.” He grinned at the two performers appreciatively. “So, I sent Jacques out to buy the ice cream beanbags from the Hobby Shoppe on Fourth and Main—”

“Where
is
Jacques?” She scanned the room but didn’t see him. Rob just kept on chattering.

“—and I told these guys they’d get free ice cream or a complimentary pastry anytime they came into the shop if they did fifteen minutes of juggling for our customers.” He checked his watch. “Although, I think they decided to use this as practice time because they’ve been at it for over a half hour.”

A beanbag whizzed by her ear, narrowly missing her head. She frowned at Rob.

“They might be getting ready for their grand finale now,” he said.

Amidst a wild flurry of flying beanbags, she gritted her teeth and ducked while searching the room. Her gaze finally came to rest on Jacques who, in time to the hip-hop sounds blaring from the jugglers’ portable stereo, was rolling his shoulders and swiveling his hips as he delivered a tray full of orders to a table of kids and their pleased-looking grandma.

Oh, brother.

“Th-This kind of blatant showmanship is going to get us in trouble, Rob, if anyone complains or if the authorities start checking up on us. We could get f-fined for breaking capacity codes.”

He leaned toward her, his gorgeous brown eyes widening with good humor and impertinence. He pressed his full lips together and got so close she could see the tiny perpendicular lines on their ruddy red surface. The lips twisted into a devious grin, and one heavily lashed eye winked at her, which sent her heart rate on a skyrocket mission to Venus.

“Lighten up, Lizzy,” he whispered in that low, ultra-sexy voice of his.

She tightened her Plain-Jane lips and narrowed her own lackluster eyes at him. “Elizabeth,” she insisted.

He grinned bigger. Leaned closer.

“Oh, my gosh! Rob Gabinarri! Is that really you?”

They both turned toward the counter where a familiar woman stood beaming at Rob. Elizabeth hadn’t seen Rob’s high-school flame in years, but the sight of the bottle blonde put her right back into her chubby senior-year stretch pants and seized her voice.

Rob, of course, didn’t miss a beat.

“Tara Welles? Hey, how are you?”

“Absolutely wonderful,” his old girlfriend cooed. Her eyes swept over him. “And don’t
you
look fabulous.”

“Thanks. Want an ice cream? An éclair? Some chocolate-covered macadamia nuts?”

“Ooh, maybe just a
tiny
little something,” Tara said, perusing the selections. “A double chocolate-caramel sundae with peanuts and sprinkles on top.”

“You got it,” he said. “Can you help me with that, Elizabeth?” He motioned for her to grab another ice cream scoop.

She tried to whisper “Sure” but couldn’t quite manage it.

Tara’s cool blue eyes surveyed her from head to toe and back again, then the blonde let out a muffled laugh.
“Lizzy?
Lizzy Daniels? Oh, heavens. Imagine seeing you again.”

Elizabeth succeeded in raising her hand for a brief wave. She refused to be goaded into opening her mouth, however.

“You look—” Tara paused as if searching for just the right scathing adjective, “—the same but…smaller.”

Terrific. But what had she expected? A high compliment?

She worked on Tara’s sundae, replacing the requested caramel with butterscotch, skimping on the chocolate ice cream and putting only half a teaspoon of nuts and one shake of sprinkles on top. She handed it to Tara with her best imitation smile and the single word she could form. “H-Here.”
Take it and don’t come back.

“Mmm.” Tara dug her spoon in and lasciviously licked it clean, her gaze fixed on Rob. She did this several times. Now, to be fair, she may have merely been preparing for an Adults Only performance at the Hasty Tasty Bar and Strip Club, but Elizabeth doubted it. It seemed as though Tara had set her sights on Rob again and, from the attentive look on his face, she was well on her way to getting what she wanted.

“Holy Smokes, the rumors are true,” a male voice boomed. “Gabinarri’s back.”

And the morning’s only getting better.
She sighed and tried to bring her vulnerable heart back into protective custody.

“Burk. It’s been a long time,” Rob said, his voice tightening.

Elizabeth stole a few glances between the two men. Lance Burk had been about the dumbest-acting of the dumb jocks at Wilmington Bay High and a football rival of Rob’s since sixth grade—even when they were playing on the same team. A good-looking guy, empirically speaking (except for that thick neck), he stood about half a foot taller than Tara and placed his hand possessively on her shoulder. She brushed it off, her lust-filled eyes never leaving Rob’s face.

“Heard you opened a diner somewhere,” Lance said with a bored expression.

“The Playbook is a restaurant on the top story of one of Chicago’s tallest buildings, Burk. It’s not a diner.”

Lance shrugged. “Whatever.” He hooked his thumbs in the loops of his jeans and spread his legs apart in a territorial stance. It reminded Elizabeth of a pit bull readying his attack—only pit bulls could be warm and cuddly on occasion. She’d never known Lance Burk to be either.

“Did you have an order?” Rob asked.

“Nope. Not today. Just wanted to see you in your new digs.” Lance scoped the room and caught a beanbag as it rocketed toward the counter. He tossed it in the air a few times and chucked. “You’re really moving up in the world, Gabinarri.” He flung the silly beanbag at Rob then tapped the blonde on her tanned and toned upper arm. “Let’s go, Tara.”

Tara batted her eyelashes at Rob one final time. “See you soon. Real soon.”

He waved her a quick farewell while Elizabeth busied herself with filling orders. Once the Dynamic Duo walked out the door, though, she had a chance to study Rob’s face. His expression was completely unreadable, but she knew what his stony façade must mean: Jealousy. Tara looked as stunning as ever (much as Elizabeth hated to admit it), and she was with Lance, Rob’s former opponent, on some kind of casual date. Rob must surely want her back, even if he didn’t want to get married or have kids this year. And, if Elizabeth read Tara’s signs and signals correctly, Rob wouldn’t have much difficulty getting his wish.

But, on a high note, the jugglers finally stopped juggling, the music got turned off and the customers went back to their regularly scheduled lives.

She breathed a sigh of relief.

When the tile floor was clear of townspeople, Jacques bounced in her direction. “Exciting day, no?” he said, still gyrating his hips and snapping his fingers. “Rob’s
extraordinairement
ideas make me want to dance.”

“Everything makes you want to dance,” she said.

He tried to engage her in a hip-hop boogie next to him, but the customers and the noise had drained her of every last ounce of sociability. Plus, she needed to save her strength for another evening with the Gabinarris. She pulled away and Jacques bopped off without her.

Rob was cleaning some of the utensils in the backroom and had become uncharacteristically silent. Brooding, no doubt. Or, maybe, plotting Tara’s easy seduction. Elizabeth was preparing herself to return home and settle down to another four or so hours of typing when her cell phone rang.

“Camden, how are you?” she said to her photographer.

“Good, good, darling. Remarkably, unbelievably good. I’m in love.”

“Oh, that’s…that’s terrific. Wow.” This was saying something. A statement for the record books, in fact. Camden was not one to easily fall. “I’m so happy for you. Who’s the lucky lady?”

“My Annabelle. She’s the most gentle, delicate creature I’ve ever seen, hiding inside the buffest, most sculpted body imaginable.”

Elizabeth heard some loud splintering noises on the line. It sounded like a ceiling beam had just crashed into the floor. “Cam, my goodness! Are you okay? Where are you? Please don’t tell me you’re on assignment in a war zone.”

“No, no. I’m at Annabelle’s karate studio in Idaho. She’s amazing,” he said, his tone blanketed with an awe she’d never heard from him before.