Love Starts with Elle(71)
“Ha! Simple, not. Straightforward, maybe. Why are you so ticked at Jeremiah, a man you don’t even know?”
Sand, sand, sand. “Because I know his kind, Elle. Seen hundreds of them. Their inflated pride make them appear confident, but all they’re looking for is someone to prop them up.”
“You’re wrong about him.”
Heath paused with the sandpaper. “For your sake, I hope so. By the way, did you e-mail your work to Mitzy?”
Elle stuck out her tongue. “I did, about two weeks ago. Happy?”
Sand, sand, sand. “I sense big things, Elle.”
When he glanced up at her, his hand slipped and he rammed his finger into the roughhewn angel, driving a fat splinter right under the nail. Dropping the sand paper, he breathed a sour word.
“Heath, what’d you do?” Elle cupped her hand under his. “Let me see.”
“Easy.” On reflex, he tried to pull free when she tugged at the splinter.
Elle hung on. “Let me get it. Don’t be a big six-foot baby.”
“Two. Six two.”
“I stand corrected.” Elle tried to pinch the splinter free, but the sliver of wooden angel remained embedded. Heath squirmed and winced. Now he remembered why he’d quit carving years ago. It wasn’t his Yale education or law degree, even lack of time. It was splinters. And the needles required to dig them out. “Elle, you’re going to have to get a needle. It’s the only way.”
“Come up to the studio then. I just bought a sewing kit.”
In the bare light of Elle’s teeny, tiny bathroom, she sterilized a needle with alcohol, then glanced into Heath’s eyes. “Ready?” She poised the instrument over his finger.
“I’m ready. Are you?” He’d dig it out himself, but his Florence Nightingale smelled like warm cotton. It reminded him of Tracey-Love’s hospital room, when he came in and Elle was rubbing lotion on his girl’s hands.
Elle drew a deep breath, aimed the needled, then stopped.
Heath shoved his hand toward her. “Believe me, it’ll hurt me more than it’ll hurt you. Just do it.”
It took a few tries and a lot of Elle wincing, but she freed the splinter. “There, now, that wasn’t so bad.”
“For who—you or me?”
“Me.” Still holding his hand, she rooted in the medicine cabinet for Bactine.
At once, it wasn’t about the splinter anymore. He wanted to hold and kiss her. “I need to go.”
She let his hand slide free. “Okay. Heath, I know what you’re saying about Jeremiah. But I have to see this through, settle our relationship in my heart.”
“Yeah, I know.” Gently he pulled her to him, his arms locked around her. When her hands slipped about his waist, he almost exposed the tender, new emotion rooting in his soul.
Heath McCord was in love for the second time in his life.
TWENTY-TWO
PLEASE JOIN US FOR THE GRAND OPENING
OF
JULIANNE’S
MERIDIAN ROAD
JULY 7TH
7:00–9:00 P.M.
The shop flowed with well-wishers, each one with a paper cup of punch in their hands, waiting a turn for a five-minute neck massage, a manicure, or a free hair consultation.
Daddy dragged the mayor, who happened to be a boyhood friend, over to the manicure tables. A photographer from the Gazette snapped his picture while Lacy soaked his hands in sudsy water.
Julianne glowed like Venus on a clear night, as the queen of her universe and quite pleased about it.
Rio, dressed in a pink dress and white shoes, mimicked Julianne’s every move, right down to her airy laugh. She dragged Tracey-Love—who wore an old pale-green dress Rio had outgrown and a pair of green Crocs—in tow.
On the half hour, Julianne drew for prizes—courtesy of Danny Simmons, Elle guessed—and the small shop never emptied. Prizes won so far were a free “spa” day at Julianne’s; gift certificates to Luther’s, Panini’s, Plums, and the Frogmore Café; a night at the Beaufort Inn; and a starter kit from big sister Sara Beth’s cosmetic line, SB Cosmetics.
At eight o’clock, Julianne stood by the refreshment tables and rang her old school bell. “This time around we’re drawing for an iPod Nano.”
Big excitement over this prize. “Draw my name,” Elle called, but Julianne shushed her. “Sisters of the owner are not eligible.”
A small rumble rose from the contingent of Garvey Girls. Fine, but as Elle stood shoulder to shoulder with Sara Beth, Mary Jo, and Candace, she was more curious about the absence of Danny Simmons than who would win the media player.
Closing her eyes, Julianne fished in the basket for the winning ticket. She smiled when she read the name. “Tracey-Love McCord.”
The girl’s eyes grew round and her mouth formed a little O. She gazed back at Elle.
“You won, baby. Go get it.”
TL moved forward at a snail’s pace, staring down at the dark polished tongue and groove floor, holding out her palm.
Julianne lay the square iPod in the center of her hand. “Congratulations, Tracey-Love.”
“T-thank y-you.” She ran to Elle. “I win, I win.”
Elle dropped down. “Won’t Daddy be surprised?” Heath was home rewriting his chapters. His agent still wasn’t thrilled with a World War II love story, but he’d gamely given Heath feedback.