Mr. Fix-It (25 page)

Khela, her attention on a customer, caught a flicker of movement at the end of her signing table. The person had taken a book from the dwindling stack, and was standing there reading the back cover while Khela spoke to the woman in front of her.

“I have loved you ever since your first book came out,” the woman said, her eyes as shiny and gray as her hair. “I only buy Cameo romances, and I’m so glad that you write so many books for them.”

“Thank you,” Khela said. “I think my publisher would be very happy to hear that.”

“I introduced my sister Gustine to your books, and now she can’t wait for your stuff to come out,” the older woman continued. “She won’t buy them, though. No, she waits for me to finish them, then she borrows ’em from me and won’t give ’em back. It’s been like that between us for some forty years.”

“It’s nice that you have a sister that you’re so close to.” Khela slid the signed book to the woman, whose name was Justine.

“You know,” Justine said, lowering her voice. “I wrote a book.”

Khela’s face stiffened behind her smile. If she’d had a panic button, she would have slammed her hand on it.

One of her handlers noticed her panicked expression and swooped in to move Justine along before the inevitable request—to read or forward a manuscript—was spoken.

The lurker to Khela’s right beat the handler to it, as a copy of
A Runaway Romance
was laid before Khela. She opened the book as the handler politely escorted Justine away, luring her with a pastel pink tote bag emblazoned with
A Runaway Romance
in glossy black letters.

“To whom shall I make this out?” Khela asked, flipping to the title page.

“ ‘Dumbass’ will do.”

Khela looked up, her eyes wide and her jaw falling.

“Carter,” she sighed, slowly standing.

“Ooh, he looks just like Cale from
A Warrior’s Secret
,” one of the women in line gushed, clasping her hands under her chin.

“I think he looks like Ken, from
An Angel’s Prayer
,” offered another woman.

“Look at him,” said a thin man in tight, skinny leg jeans and a bubble-gum pink Polo that stretched tight across his overdeveloped chest, biceps and shoulders. “That pretty little thing has to be the model for Lincoln Drake, from
Practically Perfect
.” He crossed his arms and thrust out a hip. “It has to be a crime for a man to be so fine.”

Oblivious to the speculation going on behind him, Carter touched Khela’s face, near her chin. She leaned forward over the table, drawn to him by his whispery touch.

“Her boyfriend is white?” came a faint voice further down the line.

“I’ll understand if you don’t want to talk to me,” he whispered against her lips, his fingers moving to hold her chin in place. “But I hope you’ll do me the courtesy of just listening.”

“I saw you at the wedding last month.” Tears blurred her vision, and his handsome face swam before her. “Why didn’t you come in? The ceremony was beautiful.”

“I know. The best part was the ending.”

“I know how much you like endings.”

He cupped her face, tenderly, wiping away her tears with his thumbs. “Adversity is the soil in which love thrives,” he said earnestly.

A tiny laugh escaped her. “Are you seriously going to throw my words back at me at a time like this?”

“None of my own are better. I’m sorry, Khela. I was jealous and pig-headed. When I saw you talking to Bradford Sullivan at the Fielder House, I thought he looked just like the men in your books. Like the kind of man you should be with. Someone smart and good-lookin’, but someone who is a real hero. Someone who does what you do.”

“I make up stories,” Khela chuckled around a sob. “I don’t fight fires or arrest criminals.”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” Carter said. “You came down here today because you wanted to make a difference in this neighborhood. That’s why I’ve been down here, too.”

“I don’t understand,” Khela said, accepting a tissue from the woman in line behind Carter.

“I asked the manager here to invite you to sign at this store,” he said. “I got Calareso’s to cater the signing. I knew folks would come down to see you, and they’ll patronize the other stores, too.”

“If you wanted to see me, all you had to do was call,” she said. “Or write. Or cross the street.”

“I wanted to see you, Khela, but I wanted you down here today because there’s something I need you to see.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that you sold your townhouse and moved out?” She pulled back a bit to dry her eyes and mop her nose.

“You found out about that.” He dropped his hands.

“The hard way.”

“I needed a lot of money quickly,” he said. “A lot of folks have been interested in buying that townhouse for years. Detrick brokered a good price for it.”

“You did an excellent job restoring it,” Khela said. “Your work probably doubled its value.”

“Just about,” Carter smiled. “I got much more for it than Detrick imagined I would. I was able to do a lot with the proceeds.”

“Like what?” Khela asked.

Carter showed her. He handed her a business card.

“Put Your Heart In A Home,” Khela read from the card. “Carter Radcliffe, Founder and President.” She looked at him. “What is this?”

“It’s my new company,” he said. “We go into depressed neighborhoods and buy up the existing housing structures. We demolish and rebuild from the ground up, if we have to, or make whatever repairs and improvements the buildings need. Once the homes are habitable, we’ll open them up to low-income families in need of housing on a rent-to-own basis.” He took her hand and guided her around the table. “You folks don’t mind if Khela takes a little walk with me, do you?”

No one complained. In fact, the line of waiting readers decided to follow Carter as he led Khela to the front door of the store.

“See those rowhouses down the street a ways there?” he asked, pointing in the direction of Crispus Attucks High. “My company bought all of ’em. Got ’em for a good price, too. The foundations are solid, and you should see the moldings and fixtures in some of them. All those buildings need is some TLC and elbow grease, and they’ll be tiptop. We should have them ready for folks to move in by March. We’ve already got eligible applicants who are interested in them, and we’re starting a waiting list.”

“This is what you’ve been doing in the past six weeks?” Khela said, her voice constricted by tears.

“This and getting a new place of my own.” He took her hands and held them to his heart. “I think I’m ready for a house, too. Something with four or five bedrooms and a big ol’ backyard. And a smart, beautiful, loving lady to share it with.” Khela dropped her face and Carter had to take her chin to steer her gaze back to his. “Will you forgive me?”

“Of course, I’ll forgive you,” she said. “It’s not like you were off carousing with other women. But…” She turned and retreated to her signing table.

“But you’re not sure about taking me back,” Carter finished, following close behind her.

“How do I know you won’t leave again?” she asked, her tears starting anew. “What happens the next time someone calls you Mr. Halliday? And they will, you know. Or the next time some other man comes along and makes you feel like you’re not doing enough to impress the world?”

“I don’t need to impress the world,” he insisted. “Just you. I don’t care what anyone else thinks of me.”

“I loved you just the way you were,” Khela said. “I love what you’ve done. I think it’s amazing and wonderful. But you didn’t have to do it for me.”

“Hold on, now, missy,” Carter said. “I started this company for
me
.” He emphasized his words with a poke to his chest. “I needed to feel that I deserved a woman like you. You’re my hero. I wanted to be yours. I’m sorry I didn’t handle the situation better, but I’m not as good with words as you are. I’m better with actions.”

“Forgive him, honey!” came the urgent whisper of a little old lady clutching copies of
Captured by a Captain
and
A Proper Princess
.

“If you don’t take him, I will,” said the man in pink, patting his shellacked hair in place.

“I hope she says no,” came another soft, female voice. “I’d love to be his rebound.”

A flash of empathy smoothed Khela’s way to forgiveness. “I love you,” she said. “I wished for you. I didn’t know it when I was doing it, but every hero I’ve ever written has been you.”

“I think I fell in love with you that first day I saw you walk into the brownstone,” Carter said with a big smile. “I don’t know if it was that ponytail swingin’, or this delicious dark skin, or that slammin’ ass, but I haven’t been the same since you moved into my heart.”

“You mean your brownstone,” she corrected.

He shook his head. “Nope. I mean my heart. I love you, Khela. Always have.”

She wrapped her arms around him, and with the strength and style of an old-time movie hero, she spun Carter onto the table, cradling him in her arms and smothering him in a joyous, messy kiss of forgiveness.

Customers gathered around the table, some applauding, some recording the event on their cell phones, and others staring hard as though they could learn a thing or two about kissing by watching a romance novelist do it.

“Howdy,” Carter exhaled once Khela allowed him to break for air. “You missed me, too, didn’t you, baby?”

“Excuse me, Ms. Halliday,” one of the handlers fearfully interrupted. “We’ve only got fifteen minutes left here. I hate to disturb this, but I’ve got to ask Mr. Halliday to let you get back to—”

“He’s not Mr. Halliday,” Khela corrected. “His name is Carter Radcliffe. He’s not my husband yet. But he’s going to be.”

“Is that right?” Carter laughed, sitting up and scooting off the table.

“It’s the only way to get people to stop calling you Mr. Halliday,” she explained.

“Then I s’pose we best get hitched,” Carter agreed. “But right now, you have some books to sell.” He gave her cheek a final caress that sent glorious tremors of anticipation through her. “I’m gonna go and rustle up some more business for you.”

Grabbing a stack of books, Carter made his way through the store, talking up
A Runaway Romance
like a carnival barker.

Khela’s handler, wide-mouthed, stood watching until Carter disappeared into the Fantasy and Detective Stories section.

“Where did you find
him
?” the handler asked, clearly awestruck.

“In a real-life romance,” Khela laughed.

She resumed her seat. With renewed excitement, she signed book after book, thanking her readers for believing in the kind of love that, until now, she hadn’t believed in herself.

About the Author

Crystal Hubbard
is the author of five highly acclaimed Genesis Press romances and an award-winning children’s book. The mother of four, Crystal resides in St. Louis, Mo., where she is currently undergoing treatment for adenocarcinoma.

Visit her online at
www.crystalhubbard.com
or e-mail her at
[email protected]
.