What Happens Between Friends. Beth Andrews
Important. Possibly the most important thing she’d ever done.
She applied soft brown eyeliner in the small bathroom off the Montesanos’ kitchen, capped the liner and tossed it into her small makeup bag. Leaning over the sink, she swiped on mascara. She was nothing if not pragmatic. Realistic. Centered and grounded. From the time she was sixteen she’d known exactly what she’d wanted out of life. She’d written it down, then had broken those goals into smaller, manageable steps—just like all the gurus preached. Over the years she’d changed or adjusted those steps accordingly.
She’d already achieved so much. Valedictorian of her high school class? Check. Admitted to the University of Pittsburgh’s school of nursing, graduate at the top of that class and gain employment at Shady Grove Memorial? Check, check and check. Buy her dream home by the time she was twenty-five? She had her eye on an adorable 1920s cottage that had an awesome kitchen, a view of the river and plenty of potential for the extra bedrooms and playroom she’d need once she had her three kids.
A boy and two girls—God willing—all twenty to twenty-four months apart, the first coming along sometime between Char’s thirtieth and thirty-second birthday.
She slicked on a pale peach gloss, rubbed her lips together. Straightened to study her reflection. Sighed. There wasn’t much she could do about the sprinkling of freckles on her nose and across her upper cheeks, the ones that went with hair that was as bright red as her father’s.
The ones that had doomed her to a life of being cute and adorable when all she’d ever wanted was to be sexy and beautiful.
And her hair—dear, sweet Lord, her hair—could have used some serious time with a heavy-duty conditioner, blow dryer and flat iron. That was what she got for coming here straight from work. After a ten-hour shift and that summer storm, the smooth waves it’d taken her an hour to achieve that morning were now back to their original form. Wild, springy, frizzy curls.
She would pull the whole mess into a ponytail except, call her crazy, she didn’t think passing for a sixteen-year-old would help her cause.
At least the rest was acceptable.
Her favorite dark jeans made her legs seem endless, and the emerald-green top she’d splurged on last summer, but had never worn until now, brought out her eyes and clung in all the right places, making it seem as if she actually had a curve here and there. Not an easy feat.
Twisting, she rose onto her toes and checked out her butt. Pursed her lips. Not bad. Not bad at all. Possibly even better than top-notch.
Resolutely turning away from the mirror, she dropped her lipstick into her purse before opening the door and stepping into the short hallway. Voices, laughter and music drifted to her from the living and dining rooms. She turned right, away from the party and majority of people, her back straight, head held high, steps determined.
She was on a mission here. Because while she fully realized some things were out of her control, there was still plenty she could do to make her dreams come true. And if she wanted to be married by the time she turned twenty-seven—after a year of dating and a two-year engagement, thereby enabling her plenty of time to plan the perfect wedding—she needed to get a move on.
And let the man of her dreams know she was interested, available and, most important, ready to be in a serious, long-term relationship.
The first thing Char had done when she’d arrived was to seek out Rose Montesano—best to get on her future mother-in-law’s good side right from the start. When Char had heard that her prey was in the kitchen with his brother, she’d quickly excused herself to freshen up.
She was as ready as she’d ever be. Had psyched herself up about this ever since she’d received the party invitation two weeks ago. In mere minutes, what was destined to be a lifelong love affair would have its beginning.
Her steps slowed. She pressed a hand against her roiling stomach. There was no need to be nervous. No need at all. All she had to do was walk into the kitchen. Make idle chitchat. It wasn’t as if she’d never spoken to the man before. They’d had plenty of conversations, had known each other for, well, her entire life, practically.
Char rubbed her fingertips against her palms. Inhaled a deep, calming breath, blew it—and all the tension and worry she held—out.
Sending up a prayer she would be successful, she stepped up to the doorway.
James and Leo Montesano were the only two inside. Could she really be blamed if she stood there, just out of sight, and took in the sight of two tall, dark, handsome men? If her heart sighed at knowing one would, soon enough, be hers?
They both had on jeans, but while James was dressed for the party in a blue button-down shirt, Leo had on a black V-neck T-shirt that clung to his muscular frame. James leaned against the counter near the stove, his arms straight, his fingers curled around the curved edge. At the sink, Leo—tall, broad-shouldered and handsome as sin with his floppy dark hair and sexy grin—was up to his elbows in soapy water. James said something and smiled as Leo laughed, the sound deep, masculine and enticing as all get-out.
Warmth bloomed in her chest. Glancing up, she mouthed thank you for her prayer about to be answered.
“Need any help?” she asked, making sure her voice was light and bright.
Both men glanced over. And being pinned with those dark eyes made her mouth go dry.
“Hey there, gorgeous,” Leo said, rinsing a large tray under the running water at the sink. “How do you feel about washing dishes?”
Char smiled widely—the better to show the dimple in her left cheek to its full potential. “I’ve got nothing against it.”
Leo gave a masculine whoop, quickly dried his hands on the towel tucked into his waistband and crossed to her in a few long strides. Before she realized what was happening, he wrapped his arms around her waist, lifted her as if she weighed no more than a five-year-old and spun her around. Laughing, she gripped his shoulders, the muscles bunching and flexing under her hands.
“You’re an angel,” he said in his husky voice. “The answer to my prayers. A—”
“Guest,” James finished. He scowled. “Quit twirling her around like a rag doll and stop trying to weasel your way out of your chore.”
Leo stopped and set her back on her feet, but her head still spun. “I don’t mind,” she said breathlessly.
Leo slung his arm around her shoulders, pressing her against his side. “Yeah, she doesn’t mind.”
“She might not, but Mom will,” James said.
Leo winked at Char as his pager beeped. “Unlike birthday boy here, I’m not afraid of my mother.”
“Better come over here,” James told her, wrapping his fingers around her upper arm and tugging her to his side as Leo read the pager’s screen. “It’s only a matter of time before lightning fries his lying ass.”
“Three-car accident on Jefferson Street,” Leo said, grabbing a set of car keys from the windowsill. “Who’s on tonight?”
Char worked in the E.R. and saw Leo, a firefighter and EMT, often. Most firefighters had their favorite and least-favorite doctors. At the bottom of Leo’s list, she knew, was Dr. Nathan Hamilton.
Hamilton, an obnoxious, sexist creep, was at the bottom of most people’s list, including hers.
“Wertz was there when I left,” she said, “but Goldberg is taking the night shift.”
Nodding, he slapped James on the back. “Gotta run. Happy birthday, bro.” He sent her another devastating grin. Her knees went just a little weak. Hey, she was human after all. “See you around, gorgeous.”
“When did you get here?” James asked as Leo went out the back door.
She crossed to the sink. “A few minutes ago.”
A few minutes. Twenty minutes. What