Love Songs (29 page)

“Nancy—”

“—but
not
with André. Perhaps with Ken or Rod or Gregory … but
not
with André.”

Serena laughed. “I think you’ve made your point. Don’t worry. André may come on a little strong, but he’s really harmless.” At Nancy’s look of doubt, she added, “And he is my investment counselor. I’ve got to keep him on his toes.”

“You can have him,” her friend snorted softly, then raised her voice as Serena headed for the door, “but have a good lunch. He
owes
it to you!”

Throwing her head back in a half-laugh, Serena left the shop behind. Confident steps took her past neighboring windows, the broad panes of which reflected her slender form, a floating vision with a touch of sophistication. She wore a long-sleeved blouse of Burgundy silk, whose wide cuffs and collar were of a contrasting cream hue that matched the ivory of her lightly flared wool skirt. Her high-heeled pumps and the plush leather shoulder bag that hung by her hip matched the Burgundy of the blouse. If eyes turned at her passing she was too self-contained to notice. Within minutes André Phillips greeted her in the lobby of the restaurant, dashingly bestowing a kiss on each of her cheeks.

“And how’s my favorite sweet lady today?” he exclaimed as he held her back to admire the heart-shaped face framed by thick auburn hair that swirled in waves to her shoulders.

“Sweet as ever,” Serena quipped lightly. “And you must be having trouble readjusting to the U.S. of A.”

“How could you tell?” With an arm thrown possessively over her shoulders, André led her to where the hostess stood awaiting his nod.

“
Both
cheeks, André?” Her gaze narrowed teasingly. “Very European,” As the hostess beckoned for them to follow, Serena took advantage of the restaurant’s closely set tables to pull from beneath his grasp and move out in front of him. Far from being blinded by his charm, she knew of the high style of life he treasured and, though it wasn’t what she wanted, she indulged him in his excitement. Accepting the seat he held for her, she listened patiently as he recounted his Parisian adventures, and took each with a grain of salt.

It had been a month since she’d seen him. As he talked she watched him, acknowledging his good looks even as she stood by her conviction that his dark hair was a bit too neatly combed, his natty clothes a bit too carefully worn, his facial expressions a bit too deliberate for her total comfort. When she’d first sought investment advice several years ago the bank had recommended André as someone in the know. Indeed, his connections reached to the upper echelons of the Twin Cities’ power elite. His life was, in his mind, at least, an exciting one.

Though she had dated him on occasion, Serena successfully kept him at arm’s length. Thrice-married and thrice-divorced, André held no lure for her other than as the provider of a few entertaining hours of friendship and a large dose of investment advice. If the financial statements she received at regular intervals were to be believed, he had done well for her.

“So, tell me”—he broke off his dissertation to draw her into the conversation—“how goes
Sweet Serenity?
”

Serena pushed a thick lock of hair behind one ear. “The shop is doing just fine, André. I keep waiting for the slow spell that never seems to come. Not that I’m complaining, mind you.…” She smiled. “Here it is, the first of April. We’ve got Easter, May Day, Mother’s Day, Memorial Day—you name it and it spells business.”

André eyed her askance. “Do you mean to say that you have specials for April Fool’s Day?”

“Sure.” She was unfazed. “I sold several boxes of white chocolate golf balls this morning. They look like the real thing. Of course, they’ll melt in the golfer’s hand if he happens to hold onto one long enough. Then”—she grinned—“there are sets of toffee golf tees, tins of red licorice paper clips, bottles of marshmallow aspirin, hanging marzipan peperomia plants—”

“All right, all right! Sorry I asked!” He stemmed the onslaught with a chuckle. “But I’m glad to hear things are buzzing.” Then, in the amount of time it took him to cut a piece of his pork chop, he sobered. Serena was always amazed at these sudden switches from lightness to intensity, but she’d long ago attributed them to nothing more than André’s high-strung nature and quick mind. “Have you given any more thought to investing in the money fund we discussed before I left?”

Nibbling at her egg-and-avocado salad, Serena chose her words with care. “I’ve given it some thought, but … I’m also beginning to think along … other lines.”

“Oh?”

“Uh-huh.” With a deep breath she broached the topic she’d been toying with for months. “I’m considering opening a branch of
Sweet Serenity
in one of the surburban areas.”

An odd silence preceded his “Oh?” No longer eating, he gave her his undivided attention. Serena met it in earnest.

“Downtown Minneapolis has been a fantastic market. But many of my clients come from the same areas that have made the large gourmet markets, Devlin’s, for example, such a phenomenal success. People flock there from all over. It has an elegance, a sense of quality about it, that the population is both literally and figuratively eating up.” She snickered at the pun, but felt a pang of discomfort when André obviously missed her humor. “You think it’s a bad idea?”

He hesitated. “Don’t you think it may be a little premature?”

Serena bit at her full lower lip before answering. She respected André’s opinions and it bothered her that, even speaking as a friend, he wasn’t as enthusiastic as she about the prospect of expansion. “
Sweet Serenity
has been a viable concern now for five years.” She repeated the reasoning that had worked so well on herself. “I’ve been able to reinvest profits—you’ve done that for me—and we should have
no
trouble setting up a second shop.”

“
In
Devlin’s?”

“That would be nice,” she drawled with a chuckle, “but I doubt we’d get the space in Saint Louis Park. Perhaps in one of the newer stores. Actually, I was hoping to find a spot in Edina or Wayzata.”

André pursed his lips as he studied his plate. “I don’t know, Serena. I think you should give it more thought.” He shook his head, though not a hair budged from its designated spot. “With the instability of the economy and all…”

“Oh, it’s still at the thinking stage,” she was quick to reassure him, “but I wanted to explain why I’m skeptical about investing heavily in anything that might tie up my money for a long period. If I do decide to go ahead with this I may need to get my hands on some of my funds.”

As quickly as he had sobered, André smiled. “You may put me out of business, you know.”

And Serena then understood part of his hesitancy. After all, he earned his living making investments for businesspeople such as herself. Investments took capital; the more capital she sank into a new shop, the less there would be left to invest. “André,” she chided, “would I do that to you? If I open a second store and it’s even half as successful as the first I’ll have twice as much money for you to play with. And, besides, my interests must be
peanuts
compared to most of your clients!”

He reached down and brought her hand to his lips, kissing its back in chivalrous fashion. “Very tasty peanuts, Serena. But … enough of business.” He brightened. “Listen, I’m going out to L.A. next month. Why don’t you join me?”

“Join you? André, I have a shop to run! I can’t just take off and jet around the country!”

He quirked a brow. “Would you, if it weren’t for the shop?”

It was actually a very simple question. For one thing, she had spent her early childhood in southern California. It had been the scene of her father’s financial and emotional ruin. She had only painful memories of the area. For another, she had not been, nor ever would be, André’s lover. And
that
was the crux of his present proposition.

When she spoke it was quietly and with just enough of an apology in her tone to offset the finality of her words. “No, André. You know that I wouldn’t.”

“Then I’m destined to bang my head against a brick wall?”

Serena deftly turned the tables on his teasing. “You’ve been through three awful marriages! You don’t need another woman hanging on to you!”

But he was quick on the rebound. “Come on, Serena. When was the last time
you
ever hung on a man?” Her sheepish shrug spoke of her independence. “And you’re not about to try it with me, are you?”

She shook her head slowly, her pout one of affection but far from anything more. “No. I’m afraid it’s not in the cards for us.” As the waiter appeared with their coffee a movement near André caught her eye. At the adjacent table a couple was in the process of being seated. The woman’s back was to Serena. The man stood graciously by to hold her chair, then took the seat opposite, offering Serena a clear view of his face.

It held her instantly as a galvanic force ripped through her subconscious. She knew that face! Beyond a doubt, she knew that face! Yet she couldn’t place it.

Details were lost in the overall image, whose familiarity rippled through her in repeating waves that stirred her pulse. This was no visage from recent experience. Instinct told her that. Rather, his face whisked her back over time as she sought a memory that was stubbornly elusive. With a taut swallow she dragged her gaze away. Grasping at the nearest diversion, her coffee, she nearly scalded her mouth as she drank it too quickly.

André talked on. She smiled and nodded, participating only distractedly in his chatter. But the puzzle remained. Her attention was drawn back time and again to the man at the next table. She was so certain she’d seen him before.…

“What do you think, Serena?” André’s question caught her off guard.

“Hmmm? I’m sorry.” She shook her head clear of cobwebs. “I was hung up on something else. What were you saying?”

His patience was commendable. “I wondered,” he stated slowly, “what you thought of the prospect of Minneapolis replacing Washington as the nation’s capital.”

“What?”
Her laugh had a definite edge to it that had nothing to do with André’s thought. “Are you serious?”

“I certainly am,” he deadpanned. “There’s been a rumor to that effect, you know.”

“I didn’t!”

“It’s true. It’s even been put into print that by the end of the century we may house the government workings out here.”

The concept was preposterous enough to drive that nameless face from her mind and spark Serena to life. “Heaven forbid! Minneapolis is just fine the way it is. The
last
thing we need is an invasion from Washington—or any other area!”

“And how long did you say you’d been living here?” he teased. “You sound like a die-hard Minnesotan.”

“Almost.” She grinned, then lapsed into relative silence as her counselor delved into the business prospects of a governmental move, delighted with the fantasy. Serena interjected the appropriate uh-huhs and reallys, but again her mind had begun to wander.

She glanced once more at the next table. The man was engrossed in discussion with his companion, though he was listening more than speaking. With the first shock yielding to frustration, Serena studied his features in search of a clue.

His hair was dark brown, rich and full, the sprinkles of gray in his well-tapered sideburns putting him around the forty-year mark. His nose was straight, his lips firm, his eyes hazel, like her own. He wore a shirt and tie, blazer and slacks, presenting a dignified though sporty appearance that was far from riveting but totally masculine. That he was attractive was unquestionable, and, at the moment, irrelevant. There was something beyond his outward appearance that nagged at her. She stared helplessly at him as the spark of familiarity shot through her again. It settled in her gut in an inexplicable response that shook her complacency and rattled her self-confidence.
Who was he?

As though in response to her silent plea he looked up. In a moment of inner cataclysm for Serena he caught her eye.
She
caught her breath. As placid as he appeared on the surface, the force of his gaze spoke of a deep inner fire. That was what seemed most familiar to her. Mouth dry, she stared, unable to look away as long as his gaze held hers. His expression held a question, perhaps even faint amusement. Strangely, though, he mirrored none of the recognition she so strongly felt. Could she be mistaken?…

When he finally returned his attention to his companion Serena felt drained. Facing André once more, she was too preoccupied to miss his fleeting uncertainty, but he talked on and quickly forgot her diversion. Slowly she finished her coffee. Once more she looked toward the next table; once more her gaze was met. André recaptured her attention with a witty review of the improvisational theater troupe he had seen the night before in Cedar-Riverside. But he lost her a final time to the nameless memory whose eyes shone brightly toward hers.

For Serena it was a disconcerting experience. She’d always been good with names and faces. It was necessary in her business, a small touch that her customers appreciated. But here was someone whose identity mystified her. Moreover, something kept her from alerting André to the man’s presence, though he knew almost every distinguished face in the Minneapolis–Saint Paul area.