Love, Unexpectedly. Susan Fox P.
leave Monday. And yes, definitely the train. It’s a great trip and I always meet fascinating people. It’ll take my mind off my shitty love life.”
“No problem getting time off?”
“My boss gave me major flack for leaving in June and not giving notice. Gee, you’d think I was indispensable.” She flashed a grin, and this one did sparkle her eyes.
“I’m sure you are.” He said it teasingly, but knew she was usually the center of the crowd, be it in her social life or at work.
“We sorted it out. My assistant can handle things. But it’s going to be a crazy weekend. There’s tons to organize at work, as well as laundry, dry cleaning, packing.”
“Anything I can help with?”
“Could you look after the plants while I’m gone?”
“No problem.” He’d done it before, along with playing home handyman for her and her friends. She in turn sewed on buttons, made the best Italian food he’d ever tasted—she’d once dated a five-star chef—and shared popcorn and old movies.
“Thanks. You’re a doll, Nav.”
A doll. Also known as a wimp. As one of his friends said, he was stuck in the buddy trap.
Brushing away the depressing thought, he remembered his good news. “Hey, I have exciting news, too.”
“Cool. Tell all.”
“You know the Galerie Beau Soleil?”
“Yeah. Ritzy. Le Cachet buys art there.”
“Well, maybe they can buy some of my photographs.” He fought to suppress a smug smile, then let go and beamed.
“Nav!” She hugged him exuberantly, giving him another tantalizing sample of her curves. “You got an exhibit there?”
“Yeah, in three weeks.” He scraped out a living doing free-lance photography and selling stock photos, but his goal was to build a career as a fine art photographer. He wanted his photos to display his vision and perspective, and eventually to hang on the walls of upscale businesses, private collectors, and galleries.
This would be his first major exhibit of fine art photography. “They called yesterday. Someone had to cancel at the last minute, and they asked if I could fill in.”
“That’s fabulous.” She gave him another squeeze, then stepped back. “This could be your big breakthrough.”
“I know.”
For a long moment, while washing machines chugged and whirred, they smiled at each other. Then she asked, “Do you have enough pieces for an exhibit?”
“I’ll need a few new shots. Everything has to fit the theme.”
“You already have a theme?”
“We’re calling it ‘Perspectives on Perspective.’” His photographs featured interesting lighting and unusual angles, and often incorporated reflections. They were accurate renditions of reality but from perspectives others rarely noticed. He liked shaking people up, making them think differently about things they saw every day.
“Ooh, how arty and highbrow. It’s great. I am so happy for you. This is going to launch your career, I just know it. You’re going to sell to hotels, office buildings, designer shops, private collectors.” Her eyes glittered with enthusiasm. “And I’m going to be able to say ‘I knew him when.’”
Nav chuckled. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
Kat hopped lithely up on the closest washer, catlike, living up to her nickname. Sitting cross-legged, she was roughly on eye level with him. “You’re a fantastic photographer and you deserve this. You’ve made it happen, so believe in it. Don’t dream small, Nav.”
If only that would work when it came to winning Kat.
“Believe in how great you are.” She frowned, as if an interesting thought had occurred to her, then stared at him with an expression of discovery. “You know, you really are a great guy.”
It didn’t sound as if she was still talking about his photography, but about him. Nav’s heart stopped beating. Was this it? The moment he’d longed for? He gazed into her brown eyes, which were bright, almost excited. “I am?” Normally he had a fairly deep voice, but now it squeaked like an adolescent’s.
Her eyes narrowed, with a calculating gleam. “You know how unlucky I’ve been with my love life. Well, my family blames it on me. They say I have the worst taste in men, that I’m some kind of jinx when it comes to relationships.”
“Er…” Damn, she’d changed the subject. And this was one he’d best not comment on. Yes, of course she had crappy judgment when it came to dating. The actor, the international financier, the Olympic gold-medal skier, the NASCAR champ? They swept her off her feet but were completely wrong for her. It was no surprise to him when each glittery relationship ended, but Kat always seemed shocked. She hated to hear anyone criticize her taste in men.
“Merilee said I could bring a date to the wedding, then got in this dig about whether I was seeing anyone, or between losers. I’d really hate to show up alone.”
He’d learned not to trust that gleam in her eyes, but couldn’t figure out where she was heading. “You only just broke up with NASCAR Guy.” Usually it took her two or three months before she fell for a new man. In the in-between time she hung out more with him, as she’d been doing recently.
Her lips curved. “I love how you say ‘NASCAR Guy’ in that posh Brit accent. Yeah, we split two weeks ago. But I think I may have found a great guy to take to the wedding.”
Damn. His heart sank. “You’ve already met someone new? And you’re going to take him as your date?”
“If he’ll go.” The gleam was downright wicked now. “What do you think?”
He figured a man would be crazy not to take any opportunity to spend time with her. But…“If you’ve only started dating, taking him to a wedding could seem like pressure. And what if you caught the bouquet?” If Nav was with her and she caught the damned thing, he’d tackle the minister before he could get away, and tie the knot then and there.
Not that Kat would let him. She’d say he’d gone out of his freaking mind.
“Oh, I don’t think this guy would get the wrong idea.” There was a laugh in her voice.
“No?”
She sprang off the washer, stepped toward him, and gripped the front of his rugby jersey with both hands, the brush of her knuckles through the worn blue-and-white-striped cotton making his heart race and his groin tighten. “What do you say, Nav?”
“Uh, to what?”
“To being my date for the wedding.”
Hot blood surged through his veins. She was asking him to travel across the country and escort her to her sister’s wedding?
Had she finally opened her eyes, opened her heart, and really seen him? Seen that he, Naveen Bharani, was the perfect man for her? The one who knew her perhaps better than she knew herself. Who loved her as much for her vulnerabilities and flaws as for her competence and strength, her generosity and sense of fun, those sparkling eyes, and the way her sexy curves filled out her Saturday-morning sweats.
“Me?” He lifted his hands and covered hers. “You want me to go?”
She nodded vigorously. “You’re an up-and-coming photographer. Smart, creative.” Face close to his, she added, eyes twinkling, “Hot, too. Your taste in clothes sucks, but if you’d let me work on you, you’d look good. And you’re nice. Kind, generous, sweet.”
Yes, he was all of those things, except sweet—another wimp word, like doll. But he was confused. She thought he was hot, which was definitely good. But something