Twenty Wishes (Blossom Street #5)(69)

Her stepdaughter accepted that without further comment. With a wave and a “See you next week,” she headed for the door.

Anne Marie waited until Melissa had left the bookstore before she collapsed onto the overstuffed chair and pressed one hand over her eyes. This nightmare that had become her life just wasn’t going away. She was the one who wanted a child.

Not Rebecca.

Not Melissa.

Anne Marie.

Her longing for a baby had led to her separation from Robert—a desperate attempt to impress on him how serious she was. Not that it had done her any good. Instead, Robert’s personal assistant now had a baby, most likely his, and his daughter had turned to Anne Marie for advice about an unwanted pregnancy.

But there was no baby for her.

No love, either.

She sensed someone at her side and opening her eyes, found Theresa standing there. Her employee rested one hand on Anne Marie’s shoulder.

“Bad news?” she asked.

Forcing a smile, Anne Marie shook her head. “That was Robert’s daughter.”

Knowing the history between them, Theresa stared at her. “Melissa? Is she okay? Are you?”

“She…she misses her father.”

So did Anne Marie, even more than she’d thought possible.

Chapter 22

On Monday evening Barbie purposely stayed away from the movies. It wasn’t easy, but she felt she had no option. Last week she’d left her business card with Tessa; now Barbie felt the next move had to come from him.

In a way Mark had made the next move by having flowers delivered, although she considered that an indirect, even cowardly approach. The flowers were a lovely gesture, but she’d been looking for more—like an apology or an invitation to meet again. By ordering the floral arrangement he’d managed to communicate his interest, yet keep his pride intact.

Maybe…the gesture was enough. For the moment.

She recognized what he was trying to tell her. He’d made a move in this elaborate game of theirs; the next one was hers.

She knew a little more about him after a Google search. He was an architect with an independent practice and lived in a downtown condo he’d designed himself.

Barbie felt encouraged by his interest. No, she was ecstatic. Still, she had to restrain herself, not let him have the upper hand. She decided she’d return to the movies again, but not right away.

Tuesday afternoon, she thought she’d register for the belly dancing class being held at the Seattle Fitness Center. This was her first trip here, and she was surprised to find an Olympic-size pool, along with a huge gymnasium and several activity rooms. As she walked down the hallway to the office, she passed a shop that sold workout clothes, swimsuits and other exercise paraphernalia.

After filling out the paperwork and paying her fee, Barbie began to leave the building, feeling positive and determined. She was making her wishes come true. Smiling to herself, she rounded the corner and stopped abruptly as a man in a wheelchair moved toward the pool.

Mark Bassett.

Coincidence? Fate? Barbie wasn’t about to question it. Her heart felt as if it had shot all the way up into her throat. Without conscious thought she did an about-face and headed back, toward the shop. Within five minutes, she’d purchased a swimsuit and towel. Gaining entrance to the pool was a bit more difficult; before she was allowed to swim, she had to buy a six-month fitness membership. She slapped her credit card down on the counter, impatient to get into the water before Mark.

He had to believe this meeting wasn’t staged—which, in truth, it wasn’t. Okay, so her showing up at the pool might be a bit manipulative, but when life presented you with an advantage, you had to grab it with both hands.

Barbie changed into the swimsuit, a sleek blue one-piece, in the women’s dressing room and walked out as though she was strolling along a Caribbean shore. The suit, thankfully, was a perfect fit. She squared her shoulders and silently thanked her mother for every lesson she’d taken at that expensive charm school.

Using the railing, she lowered herself into the water and cringed at the temperature. Her own swimming pool was kept at a comfortable eighty-five degrees. This was eighty, eighty-one maximum, and in her opinion downright cold.

When she’d entered the pool area, the attendant had explained that this was the adult lap swim. As soon as she got into the water, Barbie realized these noontime swimmers were serious about their workout. They wore goggles and bathing caps, and to her they resembled nothing so much as a bunch of insects with their smooth shiny heads and large round eyes.

Barbie refused to allow her hair to get wet. She needed to go back to work right afterward, and she couldn’t arrive with dripping hair.

The minute she broke away from the side of the pool, another swimmer streaked past her, quickly followed by a second. It was quite apparent that no one appreciated her rather lazy form of br**ststroke.

A third swimmer went by, kicking wildly, splashing her face and hair. Barbie swallowed a mouthful of chlorinated water and choked violently. She felt like she was about to cough up her tonsils. So much for making a sophisticated appearance.

She muttered a curse, treading water for a moment while she caught her breath. When she could breathe normally again, she wiped the water from her eyes. She’d given up even trying to keep her hair dry.

As she finally reached the other end of the pool, she saw Mark hanging on to the side, watching her. Clearly her antics were a source of amusement to him. His gaze found hers and he actually smiled.