That Special Smile/Whittenburg (13 page)

And as pleasant as the entire evening had been so far, she decided this was the best part yet.

The Candlelight Tour had been a leisurely, enjoyable excursion through a few businesses and homes decorated for the season with handmade ornaments and trimmings. The play was good … as enjoyable a part of the Christmas season as ever.

But this…?

This was the best.

Her eyes followed the strong angle of his jawline to trace the character lines at the corner of his mouth. Max smiled more than any man she’d ever met. And he laughed often, not with the enigmatic, mocking sort of amusement so many men displayed, but with genuine pleasure.

He was one of the few men she knew who was comfortable in his own skin and, therefore, completely be natural with others. From the casual, overlong style of his dark hair to the well-worn, but obviously comfortable, tennis shoes he so often wore, he made no effort to conform to her very definite ideas about life and life-styles

 At first that had annoyed her, but lately she hardly even thought about it.

Max was ... Max. Her friend. Her adversary. And all too often, her only ally.

When he glanced at her again, she realized she’d been staring and forced her gaze to the stage. But her hand remained in his and her thoughts turned more to the possibilities in her future than to Scrooge’s confrontation with the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come.

She didn’t know why. Her future wasn’t up for idle speculation, she knew what it held. Christmas and New Year’s with her dad, then back to finish out the plans for the dress shop. The restoration work was almost complete, but stocking the merchandise and dozens of other business details were all still ahead. She could only hope everything would be done by the target date in March. After that she would have to return to Boston and her career, an oddly unappealing option at the moment.

How could she have lived and worked there and yet not have missed any part of it in over two months? She had phoned Phillip a few times to check in with him, let him know how she was doing, and make sure the office was running smoothly without her.

It shouldn’t, she realized with a start, have occurred to her that it could run – smoothly or otherwise – without her.

That office had once been her first priority, the recipient of all her great ideas, all her energy.

But she’d barely given it a thought for weeks.

True, Juliette’s business had taken first place on her to-do list but, still, not thinking about Kessler-Smith, Ltd. was unusual.

Out of character.

Sylvie shifted uncomfortably in her seat and made her mind search for the reason. It had something to do with the pervasive calm in Eureka Springs, she decided. There was a relaxed atmosphere prevalent throughout the area, an attitude that Max exemplified with his easygoing enjoyment of life. Maybe that spirit was why she couldn’t seem to think her way past the next few weeks.

Or maybe it was because of Max.

A sigh of uncertain origin escaped her lips. Now, that idea ranked right beside Juliette’s theory on humming. It was too ridiculous to consider.

She let her gaze stray from the stage to the two empty seats on her right. Juliette and Benton had missed the bus for the Candlelight Tour and apparently hadn’t been able to find their way to the City Auditorium either. Sylvie hadn’t any clue as to why, or where they might be.

By the time she had arrived at the cottage that afternoon, Juliette was already gone, sans any note of explanation. And she’d forgotten to put Sylvie’s key on the table as well. Sylvie hadn’t been surprised about that and told herself she’d retrieve it from the depths of Juliette’s purse during the tour. But, of course, that wasn’t meant to be.

Juliette and Benton were probably busy mending their disagreement regarding business versus pleasure. Sylvie had to admit to feeling a minuscule degree of worry, though. It wasn’t like Juliette to be upset over what someone else thought she ought to do.

But, then, this wasn’t someone else, it was Benton.

The whole situation was beginning to look serious, Sylvie thought. Juliette had never before shown such undivided commitment of time and energy to a man. And certainly never for this long.

Shifting the wire frames of her glasses, Sylvie turned her concentration to the final scenes of the play. She had her hands full with Juliette’s enterprise; she was not going to get involved with Juliette’s love life.

And she wasn’t going to get involved in a seductive game with Max, either.

She slipped her hand from his and pretended not to notice his quick, questioning look. Eyes on center stage, hands clasped in her lap, Sylvie let her lips curve just a little, as if she were intent on the players. But his steady regard made her think he recognized the evasive action for what it was: uncertainty.

Applause signaled a welcome diversion and the end of the play. In the aftermath of curtain calls there were the slow, rumbling sounds of an audience returning to separate conversations and individual plans.

Sylvie stood and reached for her coat, but Max was already lifting it to her shoulders. As he pulled it around her, his eyes caught hers and held her motionless. Slowly, sensually, his smile unfolded, melting the edges of her uncertainty.

What if the seductive, off-again, on-again game he’d been playing all week wasn’t a game at all?

Tucking the possibility out of reach, she returned his smile in the most casual manner she could manage.

“For a town that gets very quiet after the tourist season, this seems to be a pretty noisy place.”

It was a moment before Max relinquished her gaze or her shoulders. “In the past couple of years there’s been a real effort to extend the season into December. I suppose Eureka Springs eventually could become a year-round attraction.”

“You don’t sound enthusiastic about the idea.”

He stepped into the aisle and waited for her. With a touch of his hand at the small of her back, they began the slow progress to the exit. “Too much work. And you know how I feel about that.”

“Keeping your nose to the grindstone results in a sore nose,” Sylvie said dryly. “Isn’t that your philosophy?”

He increased the pressure of his hand, urging her to keep moving. “I’ll admit I’m partial to my nose the way it is.”

“It’s a good thing all the shopkeepers don’t share your opinion.”

“For your information I happen to know several people in town who like my nose every bit as much as I do.”

She rewarded his nonsense with a smile. “Sorry. I had no idea that was a
sore
spot.”

This time he smiled, but his accompanying chuckle was lost in the shuffle as the person next to Sylvie knocked her against his side. His arm went around her and pulled her close, guiding and protecting her until they reached the foyer of the auditorium. Once there, Max stopped to button his coat and Sylvie felt a pang of disappointment that she was no longer in need of his sheltering arm.

She caught the feeling and bundled it away as a passing fancy. Pulling on her hat, she followed Max to the entrance doors. Outside, the air was cold and bracing, with intermittent snowflakes that floated into sight and vanished on contact. Sylvie didn’t know why she felt as if the evening had just been touched by magic, but as she walked beside Max and the crowd thinned to scattered groups of people, magic seemed an acceptable explanation for her contentment.

“Did you enjoy the play?” Max asked.

“Very much. Did you?”

“Yes, especially the last part.” His smile whispered with secrets. “When you held my hand.”

“I thought you were frightened by the ghosts and in need of a reassuring touch.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I’m still a bit shaky. Would you mind?”

With a laugh she took her hand from her coat pocket and tucked it inside Max’s fleece-lined pocket alongside his hand. His fingers closed over hers and warmth rippled through her, like the anticipation of a fire on a winter morning. “Who reassured you during the play last year, Max?”

“I didn’t go. The Attic was one of the stores on the Candlelight Tour last year, and Miriam and I were too busy with that.”

“Really? You didn’t mention that before.”

“I didn’t?”

“No.” She cocked her head to regard him with sly suspicion. “You probably didn’t want me to get the idea that you actually work on occasion.”

“I don’t know where you got the idea that I don’t.” His voice contained an edge of seriousness, but Sylvie squeezed his hand in teasing reply.

“Oh, it probably has something to do with the amount of time you spend supervising my work and trying to persuade me to play hooky for an afternoon.”

“Do you consider that a waste of time?”

She paused. “Of course not, but it can’t leave you much opportunity for your own work. I know this is the off-season and that The Attic is closed, but I thought you probably used the winter months to make the toys and dolls for the shop.”

“It all gets done eventually. No one wins a Pulitzer Prize for being the first store owner in town to have the shelves restocked.”

“Oh, well then, if I were you, I’d hold out for an Academy Award. More television coverage.”

He gave her fingers a scolding pinch for being facetious. “And that would impress you, I suppose.”

“Are you kidding? That would impress everyone!”

“Well, frankly, I believe I should hold out for a more coveted prize.”

“Like what?”

“You, for example.”

“For example? That’s a backhanded sort of compliment, Max.”

“I thought it was pretty straightforward.”

“Which just shows how out of practice you are.”

“I must be,” he acknowledged somberly. “You never take anything I say seriously.”

Sylvie laughed softly. “And what would you do, Max, if I did?”

His steps slowed, his lips tipped reluctantly upward, and inside the fleecy pocket his thumb caressed her hand in smooth circles. “I’d probably kiss you.”

“And then what?”

“I’d be happy to show you.”

Her heart stopped for a second, but she kept walking. It was pretty hard to misinterpret that kind of remark, but she thought perhaps she ought to give it a try. “Well, for now, you can show me a cup of coffee, since we’re almost on your doorstep.”

“And later?” Max asked in a low, suggestive tone.

“Later…,” Sylvie answered, matching him with a sultry tone of her own. “…you can show me the workroom where you create all those wonderful toys.”

Max sighed and remained silent until they reached the concrete steps in front of his house. Then he released her hand and gestured grandly toward the porch. “What a romantic way to end an evening. Almost as good as a crossword puzzle.”

Sylvie laughed and led the way to the door, where she waited while he opened it, switched on a light, and motioned for her to enter. Inside, he took her coat and casually tossed it on the couch.

“Come along,” he said, moving toward the kitchen doorway. “You can tour the workroom to your heart’s content while I prepare our nightcap.”

“I’d prefer coffee.” She dropped her hat onto the couch beside her coat and smoothed her disheveled hair.

Max stopped. “Please don’t take every word I say literally. I was referring to the coffee. Nightcap tonight equals coffee. Any other questions?”

She merely smiled and followed him into the kitchen, which was remarkably similar to Juliette’s. Max stepped to another doorway, reached around the doorjamb and flipped on a light. “Be my guest.”

Sylvie didn’t wait for further invitation. She’d wanted to see his studio for quite some time. In fact, she’d teased him for weeks, telling him she knew his workshop at home was a smoke screen, invented as an alibi for staying at home instead of going to his store.

But it was real.

And so were the toys, in various stages of creation, that littered all the available work space. Max obviously did work here, and as she wandered at random about the room, Sylvie felt as if she were seeing a whole new facet of his personality.

The pride he took in his craft was evident in everything she saw.

It still amazed her that Max’s large hands could create the delicate, lifelike features of a doll’s face. But there was something more here, an aura different from that of the toy store, a lingering sense of ideas rather than polished products. This room held a part of his soul, and Sylvie felt honored to have been allowed to enter it.

When she realized he was still standing in the doorway, she pivoted slowly, wanting to express her approval, but not knowing exactly how to go about it. “You could have invited me sooner. I’d never steal your secrets.”

“Maybe I thought you’d steal something else.”

She smiled gently, uncertain of his mood. And her own. “Don’t worry. Your coffee recipe is safe with me.”

His lips made no attempt to form an answering curve and as he turned toward the kitchen, Sylvie called out to him. “Max? I just wondered why you never let me see your workroom before.”

He turned back, his eyes dark and intensely blue, his expression pensive as he regarded her from the doorway. “A lot of me is in this room. Not everyone would understand that.” He paused. “Maybe you don’t either.”

How could she not understand? She’d known for quite some time that he was a creative, tender and sensitive man. She just hadn’t realized how much she liked knowing it.

“I’ve never met anyone like you.” It wasn’t what she wanted to say, but it was as close as she could come at the moment. “You’re a limited edition.”

He stood there in the doorway, his eyes holding her steady, and then slowly, inexorably, she was drawn forward.

She stopped just short of his reach, but as his hand grasped hers, she knew she’d somehow miscalculated. His arms went around her and her sudden reaction was both self-protective and involuntary.

“Have you tried to find a distributor for your dolls, Max? I’m sure with the right marketing techniques, you could – ”

“Not now, Sylvie.” The remaining distance into his arms was bridged forcefully and without hesitation. He took her lips roughly, but he excused the action by thinking that at least she’d know he was serious.