What would you do to get a second chance at love? Sometimes fate needs a little helping hand...
When
Ruthie Carvalho finds an old birthday card with a marriage proposal
scribbled on the back, she figures she's hit pay dirt and is destined to
get her 35 year old daughter married.
The
trouble is, Ruthie can't stand Cara's boyfriend and Cara is just
stubborn enough to push in the opposite direction of what her mother
wants.
When
Devin Michaels gets a phone call from his old friend's mom, he knows
Ruthie is up to something. But he's at a crossroad. It's been 17 years
since he's seen Cara and memories of their soulful talks and walks on
the beach make him long to reconnect.
Going
back to the seaside town of Westport Massachusetts to reconnect with
Cara seems like just the thing to do. One look at Cara and the years
seem to melt away. With a little help and “creative” planning from
Ruthie, can these old friends become lovers and have a second chance at
happiness?
Purchase THE MARRIAGE CONTRACT
Chapter One Excerpt
Cara Cavarlho could think of a hundred places she wanted to be right now.
This wasn't
one of them.
She tugged on
the rope dangling above her head. A musty cloud of dust hit her in the face as
the stairs leading to the attic of her parents' Westport home dropped, gaining
her access. Gripping the splintered stairs, she began her ascent into the
“black hole”, she so affectionately dubbed the attic in her childhood, with
mixed emotion. Ever since her parents decided to sell the home she had grown up
in and move to Florida with the senior league, she found herself becoming
overwhelmed with emotion.
Of course, her
thirty-fifth birthday being right around the corner wasn't a big help. That her
mother kept reminding her of her single, childless status only added to her
emotional unrest.
She yanked on
the metal chain dangling above her head and light quickly spilled into the
sweltering crawl space. “It's a furnace up here!” she called down, immediately
feeling the cool air below bathe her warm face.
Whose idea was
it to delve into this black hole on a hot August afternoon? Certainly not mine!
she fumed silently.
“I know. We
should have done this earlier in the day, before the sun had a chance to heat
the attic,” she heard her mother, Ruthie, call up from below. “Do you want me
to get the fan?”
I want to get
out of here and not do this. “No. I can't stay up here long, anyway. I'm
already sweating like a pig.”
On her hands
and knees, she carefully crawled along the aged planks, feeling them bend under
her weight. Aerobics twice a week and running three miles a day had her wearing
the same size she had worn since college. With each creak of the aged floor
boards, she was glad she’d taken pains to keep her figure trim.
Despite the
dim light, it was difficult to see. She squinted and tried to focus. Boxes.
There were loads of them scattered Helter Skelter around her, tucked into
corners they'd been placed in years ago and long since forgotten. The life she
used to lead was lost up here. Why couldn't things ever remain the same...?
“Just start
with a few, dear. We can rummage through them first and price anything you want
to include in the tag sale,” Ruthie suggested.
“Sounds like a
good idea. I'll come back up tomorrow morning before breakfast to get more. I
can barely breathe up here now.” Cara's eyes roamed the piles of memories one
last time. After choosing the five boxes closest to the hole and carefully
lowering them to her mother, Cara descended to fresh air once again.
She helped her
mother drag the boxes down the stairs and out to the back porch of the
beachfront home. Plopping the last one on the wrought iron patio table, she
puffed her cheeks and slid the back of her hand across her sweated forehead.
The sooner we get through this the better.
Ruthie was the
first to begin the unveiling and plunged into the first box while Cara poured
both of them a tumbler of her mother’s homemade lemonade. After a few minutes
of digging, Cara found her tension ease. While she'd been dreading the idea of
unearthing old memories, she found the task easier once she delved in and became
lost in them.
The first box
was filled with old Christmas ornaments and treasures she and her brother,
Manny, had made in school when they were kids. A paper doll chain. An old
wooden whale Manny had made in woodshop. The next box had old crochet blankets
and booties from when they were babies. While Cara fingered the soft yarn of a
baby afghan, Ruthie dove into the box filled with old yearbooks and newspaper
clippings from Manny's athletic high school days.
“You suppose
Manny would want to keep any of these things?” Ruthie asked, picking up a
yearbook and fanning the pages open. A candied piece of what looked like edible
underwear fell to the floor boards by their feet. Ruthie retrieved the
“article” and held it up in the air between her fingers.
Cara laughed,
remembering the gag gift Manny had given her years ago. It was harmless, but
she knew her mother wouldn't find the truth so humorous.
“Those are
mine, Ma. Manny gave them to me before he left for the seminary.”
As she
expected, Ruthie threw her an appalled look. “How would your brother know about
such things? He's a priest, for goodness sake!”
Cara sobered
immediately, sucking in her cheeks to keep her laughter at bay. She knew her
mother had a hard time remembering Manny as a normal everyday teenager before
he'd left for the seminary. Now wasn’t the time to remind her.
But as
usually, Cara didn't leave it alone. She reached across the table for the
naughty underwear. “What size are they anyway?”
“Never you
mind.” Ruthie dropped the brittle article of “clothing” in the green rubber
garbage can by the table. “If your grandmother saw this, she'd probably take
them for herself.”
Cara gasped.
“She would not!”
“Oh, you'd be
surprised. The other day I caught her standing in front of the full length
mirror, trying on one of those tight bustiers Madonna wears all the time.”
“You're
kidding. You are kidding, aren't you?”
Ruthie sighed
heavily, a worried looked suddenly etching her face. “I think she has
Alzheimer’s.”
Cara’s hand
flew to her chest. “Why?”
“She's acting
strange.”
“So what’s
new? She always acts strange. She's a free spirit.”
Ruthie
remained somber. “As we speak, she's at church.”
“So?”
“It's
Tuesday.”
“What? People
only go to confession on Sunday?”
She slapped
the yearbook on the table. “She thinks she's Madonna. And there's the fishing
thing.”
Cara held up
her hand to halt her. “Fishing?”
Ruthie sighed
and reached across the table, patting Cara's hand. “You’ve been away for a
while, honey. You'll see what I mean after a few days.” Cara turned her
attention back to one of the boxes in front of her and pulled out a pair of
white baby booties.
“Oh, were
these mine?” she crooned, examining the tiny booties.
“No, dear. I
made them for your children, just after you were born. Not that they'll ever be
used,” Ruthie quipped under her breath.
“You made
booties for your own grandchildren when I was still a baby? What about me?
What did I get to wear?” Cara shook her head in disbelief. Utterly bewildered,
she stared blankly at the silk threads sewn in minute stitches with loving
care. Her eyebrows furrowed as she read the name embroidered on the heels.
“Omar? What's this Omar you have embroidered here?”
“Your
grandmother made you plenty of booties when I was a little girl. I was merely
passing on the tradition. One that I won't hold my breath you'll continue.”
Oh, this
vacation is going to be good, Cara thought. A full three weeks helping her
parents get the house ready for sale, and listening to poor Ruthie dig about her
lack of grandchildren, was going to be a slow, agonizing death.
It was times
like this she could throttle her brother for becoming a priest and dropping all
the procreation pressure on her shoulders.
“And Omar,”
Ruthie continued, “is the name I picked out for your first born son. What can I
say? I had a thing for Dr. Zhivago.”
“You were
already naming my kids!? Omar?” She mouthed the name with disgust.
“You didn't
like Dr. Zhivago?”
Cara drew in a
deep cleansing breath of salted sea air, wondering how she could have been born
to this crazy family. This was going to be an extremely long three weeks.
Ruthie plucked
out an old birthday card from the box and read it. “Devin Michaels. Mmmm. Now
that's a name I haven't heard you speak in a long time.” Turning it over, she
read the ink staining the back and squealed in delight, practically jumping from
her seat. “Devin proposed to you!”
“What are you
talking about? He did not.”
“On your
birthday card. He proposed!” Ruthie sputtered, “How come you never told me
about this?”
“Let me see
that.”
Cara nabbed
the card from her mother and speed read the note, smiling.
I, Devin
Michaels, agree to marry you,
Cara
Cavarlho should both of us still
be single
at age thirty-five.
Signed:
Devin Michaels
“I remember
this.” The memories poured back one by one. She and Devin had just toasted her
birthday. After sneaking out on her own birthday party, they sat on the
concrete ledge of the watchtower at Gooseberry Point, watching the midnight
moon, drinking cheap wine illegally, and toasting to their future success.
She had been
lamenting about Manny leaving for the seminary and the predicament he'd left her
with regarding her mother's future grandchildren. If she dared to remain
single—which, given her lofty career goals, she'd whole-heartedly planned to be
at age thirty-five—Ruthie was sure to hound her for the rest of her life. Or at
least until menopause, whichever came first.
Devin joked
that he would be chivalrous and rescue her from being eternally damned by her
mother. What was nothing more than a little joke between two friends was now
coming back to haunt her.
Cara couldn't
help but smile, remembering the boy, the friend Devin had been. They'd been
inseparable that summer. There’d always been something special about Devin.
Something just a little bit more…
“Devin always
had a thing for you, you know.” Ruthie raised her eyebrows and shined her
matchmaking smile.
“Thirty-five
seemed so old to us back then.”
“Still is when
you're single, dear,” Ruthie returned.
Some things
never change.
Cara rolled
her eyes. “We were just kids, Ma.”
Kids or not,
back then they thought they knew everything. Most of all, what they wanted in
life. Devin was going to take on the world as a lawyer. From the little bits
and pieces she'd heard over the years from people back home, and news coverage
on the tube of the highly publicized cases he'd won, he'd done just that, as a
prominent Manhattan defense attorney.
Winning one
highly publicized case he'd taken straight out of law school, one that the
prosecution as well as the world thought he'd lose hands down, had propelled him
into the most exclusive law firm in Manhattan. It hadn't taken him long to make
a name for himself and become a much sought after, multi-million dollar baby of
law.
Cara had her
own plans in which marriage had no part. She had to admit pride in the fact
that, like Devin, she'd reached the pre-set goals made that fateful summer. She
had worked hard and become a home interiors expert, opening her own successful
shop in the posh Back Bay area of Boston nearly ten years earlier.
Looking at her
mother's bright expression, and knowing what conclusions she'd already drawn,
Cara said, “This was a joke, Ma.”
“It's in black
and white.”
“Blue and
white.”
“How many
assistants have you lost to motherhood already?”
“Four,” Cara
sputtered.
“In a month or
so, Louise will make five.”
The heaviness
of her mother's statement hit Cara hard. Especially in light of the feelings
she'd been having of late. Forcing the thoughts away, she tossed out the usual
response she used when her mother started this line of conversation.
“That's why
I’m not getting married. In case you hadn't heard, barefoot and pregnant went
out long ago, Ma. Women have careers now.”
“That may be
so, but look me. I was so thrilled when you were born, I never once regretted
leaving my catering business behind.”
“My point
exactly. You gave it up.”
Ruthie scowled
and snatched the card back, holding it to her chest as if it were the only hold
she had on getting any future grandchildren. “That’s right. The women of your
generation want it all.”
“You say it
like it’s a dirty word.”
“It feels like
it when I have no grandbabies to spoil. Mark my words. I may just get to see
your father walk you down the aisle before I die after all. I think you should
call Devin.”
Cara cocked
her head to one side and blinked hard, trying her best to gather up her
control. “I haven't heard from Devin in over fifteen years! I doubt he hardly
remembers me.”
Even as she
said the words, she knew it wasn’t true. She and Devin had been inseparable.
Warmth spread from the center of her chest outward just thinking of their
friendship. It had been a long time since she’d thought about Devin.
Ruthie
gasped. “Don’t be ridiculous! Devin would never forget you. If I know Devin,
he’ll keep his word. He’ll honor this marriage contract,” Ruthie continued, as
if she were in her own world.
“You must have some feelings for him or you
wouldn’t have kept his card all this time.”
“I didn’t even
know it was there.”
“We’ll see.”
The way her
mother clutched the card, fanning herself from mid-day August heat, Cara knew
this was only the beginning. These next three weeks were going to be the
longest weeks of her entire life.
* * *
Devin Michaels
strode through the full glass door of his lavish downtown office in the heart of
Manhattan, success evident from his steady gait.
“Congratulations, Mr. Michaels,” the receptionist at the front
desk said with a gleaming smile.
“Thank you,
Lucy.” He walked by the woman without so much as a nod of his head, ignoring
the overt physical appraisal she made of him in his expensive suit as he paced
down the corridor, leather briefcase in his hand. Despite his court win this
morning, his mood was growing fouler by the moment. If will alone could kill
the bitter taste his profession left in his mouth, he'd have done it long ago.
But the past few months of trying hadn't managed that feat.
“Way to go,
Devin.” Kurt Langdon, an associate partner, slapped him on the back, and then
shook his hand, squeezing it with competitive zeal. “They said it couldn't be
won, but then again, you always prove them wrong. Victory is sweet, huh?”
Devin glared
at Kurt's hand on his shoulder until it was removed. He'd become used to the
other lawyers in the office wanting to befriend him for the sole sake of
furthering their own interests within Wallingford, Collins, and McCaid. Kurt's
transparency made him nauseous. In fact, all of the vultures working in this
firm were circling the dead flesh, waiting for their chance to have their name
stand aside the big boys.
Devin had made
it his purpose to ensure his name alone would stand out before the rest. That’s
the way it had always been, and what he’d worked so hard for all these years.
He didn't know when it had started, but lately he wondered why he ever thought
that was worth fighting for.
Kurt cleared
his throat. “We're toasting the big win in the conference room in fifteen.”
Devin nodded,
and then ventured toward his office door, hoping to find a quiet moment before
he'd have to pretend to actually be happy he'd won a case where the guilty
won.
“Congratulations, Mr. Michaels,” Brenda said softly. His
administrative assistant's soft brown eyes twinkled admiration at him and forced
him to smile for the first time that day. They reminded him of warm cinnamon
brown eyes that used to smile at him in his youth. Years stood in the way of
those memories. Funny how, ever since Brenda started working for him three
months ago, those memories kept creeping back into the recesses of his mind.
Brenda
shuffled some papers on her desk and stacked them into a neat pile, which she
cradled in the crook of her arm. She was green out of business school, and
although Devin had balked at the idea of taking on an assistant so
inexperienced, she was quickly shaping up to be an asset to him. His reputation
for being an arrogant barracuda was one that made it a difficult position to
fill. Brenda’s determination to keep up with him was something he admired.
He smiled his
gratitude. “Thank you, Brenda.”
She quickly
grabbed her daily planner and steno pad, adding to the stack and followed on his
heels through the double oak doors of his office. “You have a lunch meeting at
noon with the senior partners. Mr. Ryan of Ryan Enterprises at two fifteen.
Logan Hayward confirmed your squash game at three. You have a meeting with your
Real Estate agent at four thirty to finalize the sale on your Co-op.” She took
a deep breath before continuing, her pause causing him to lift his head to look
at her for the first time. “Dinner with Cheyenne at--”
“Cancel
dinner,” he cut in, remembering he'd forgotten to take care of that loose end
himself. Cheyenne Lewis, his companion for the last six weeks when time
permitted during his grueling schedule, had overstayed her welcome in his life.
She was beginning to get too clingy. “Send her flowers—I think she likes
lilies—and tell her...” he thought a minute and shook his head. “I'm sure
you'll think of something, but don't make any promises.”
“Yes, Mr.
Michaels,” Brenda said, jotting the note in her steno. “Today's mail is on your
desk as well as your phone messages. Ruth Cavarlho was insistent-”
Devin snapped
his head up, his pulse quickening. “Who called?” He sucked in a deep breath as
if the wind had been knocked out of him after hearing the name. When he saw his
young assistant’s startled expression, he realized his surprise was evident in
the way he’d barked at her.
“Ruth
Cavarlho,” she repeated, darting her gaze from his face to her steno, her hand
still poised in place for the next instruction. Then back again.
It wasn’t like
him to unravel in front of anyone. He’d be damned if he’d start today.
“That'll be
all, Brenda,” he said, straightening his spine and pushing strength into his
voice as he spoke. A pen on his desk suddenly became his anchor and he gripped
it between the pads of this fingers until Brenda nodded.
“Yes, Mr.
Michaels.” She turned and walked to the wide oak double doors and added,
“They're toasting in-”
“Fifteen.” He
pushed up his suit jacket sleeve and glanced at the gleaming gold watch on his
wrist. “Ten minutes. Call me. And get Ruthie Cavarlho on the phone for me,
please.”
The heavy door
echoed in his head as it was closed. He sunk deep into his thick leather arm
chair behind his desk and swung the seat around. Rubbing at his jaw, he stared
out the window at the hustle and bustle of people on the street below his
Manhattan office. Everything seemed so small. So very small.
For a man
who'd made it his purpose in life to remain frozen, void of emotion, he was
thawing fast. To feel anything at all would mean death in the snake pit of a
career he'd willingly entered. It amazed him that the mere mention of a name,
the thought of Cara could still trigger a deep emotional response to their
friendship. The years somehow hadn't managed to wash that away.
He leaned
forward in his seat and rested his chin on his steepled fingers. The Manhattan
skyline had always been a source of inspiration. It was his dream. But lately,
he’d been far too unsettled about the career that had always driven him hard.
Instead of thrilling in the victory of a court case like this morning’s win, his
mind eagerly sought out memories of those easy summer days with Cara.
He remembered
it well. It was the summer before his father passed away. Carl Michaels had
taken ill earlier that spring, told to get his affairs in order and spend time
with his family. The elder Michaels had never been willing to take time for
anything other than activities he suspected would further his business
interest. When they'd received the news his condition was terminal, the family
rented the same beach house on the coast of Westport, Massachusetts they’d
always spent summers, hoping to capture years of what they missed in what little
time they had left. Before that summer, Devin didn't even know his father, and
when they finally had a chance to connect, he was losing him.
A bittersweet
grin tugged at his lips. Although they were polar opposites in the looks
department, he was a lot like his father. Cara had pointed that out to him.
She saw it, even back then. It was only lately that he could see the
resemblance.
Cara had been
more than a friend. She'd been his rock, the one thing that he could always
count on to keep him stable while the earth beneath him crumbled. When he first
saw her, he was instantly attracted to her cinnamon brown eyes and chestnut
curls. The coral string bikini she wore wasn't half bad, either, he recalled,
thinking of her walking along the shore collecting shells, flaunting assets she
hadn’t yet discovered a man found so desirable. And he had.
But it was the
friendship that bound them together. It hadn't taken long for her laughter to
embrace him and, eventually, they’d become inseparable.
Devin chuckled
at the irony. He'd built his reputation being a hard as nails, cut throat,
defense attorney. Respected and admired by his peers, he was feared by his
opponent. In one fell swoop, seventeen year old memories flooded him and
brought him to his knees like a spineless jellyfish.
The buzzer on
his telephone sounded and Devin swung around in his chair to answer the page
from Brenda.
“Mrs. Cavarlho
on line one,” she announced.
His heart
raced as his pushed the blinking yellow light on the phone panel. Ruthie
Cavarlho. Everything he remembered about her spoke of love and warmth.
“Devin, dear.
It's so good to hear your voice,” Ruthie said brightly.
“It's been a
long time. I hope everything is well with you.” And Cara. Tell me everything
about Cara, he said inwardly. Look at him! He was shaking in his shoes like an
eighteen year old boy pumped full of testosterone. If only the vultures outside
his office door could see this...
“Yes. How's
your mother doing, dear? It’s been a few years since I’ve seen her. She
doesn’t come to Westport anymore.” Ruthie continued her small talk and filled
Devin in on the family's plans to move to Florida within the month.
“I'm sure
Harold is happy to be retiring.” With a brisk motion, he slicked back his hair
in frustration, waiting for her to be the one to mention Cara's name. A hot
fire burned in his gut as he waited, anticipating the news that she was married,
maybe with children, living happily ever after in the arms of another man.
But no, what
was he thinking? That wasn’t Cara at all. The Cara of his memory was a carbon
copy of himself, driven in her quest for success. She’d chanted over and over
again how she’d never marry. But that was a long time ago...
“Did you
receive Cara's card in the mail, yet?” Ruthie said, mentioning her daughter for
the first time.
He quickly
rummaged through the stack of mail on his desk, tossing each letter aside until
he found the thick violet enveloped. “I’m just reading it now.” He tore the
seal and pulled the cards--yes there were two, he noticed--and began to read the
first.
Happy
Birthday, Dev!
It's pay up
time!
Love, Cara
Confused, he
glimpsed the second card, finding it vaguely familiar, and laughed out loud when
he finished reading the back. Lord, it felt great to laugh and actually feel
it! “I can't believe she kept this!” A strange feeling tugged at his heart
that she’d kept a keepsake of him.
“Well, you
know, Devin, she always had a thing for you,” Ruthie said as if it was a known
fact among them all.
“How is she
doing?”
“Fine.”
He paused a
second, a tinge of disappointment settling in his gut with her lack of
elaboration.
“Good.”
There was a
slight pause before she continued. “She's staying at home until Labor Day,
helping her father and me with the move and all. We're having a bit of a bash
for her thirty-fifth birthday. We'd love to have you. Are you
available?”
The inflection
in her voice rose as to emphasize her double meaning. Same ol' Ruthie.
It wasn't
until faced with the possibility of seeing Cara again that Devin realized he'd
give anything to see her. He punched up his schedule on the computer and
immediately groaned at entries flooding each and every day for the next month.
“Things don't look good, Ruthie. I'm not sure I can get away.”
“Oh,
but...what about the wedding?” she gasped.
“Who's
wedding?”
“Why...yours
and Cara's, of course. You did read the card, didn't you?”
“Yes, but...”
Puzzled by her query, Devin picked up the card again and turned it over in case
he’d missed some important piece of information. The search proved futile.
“Cara will be
thirty-five next week.”
“Yes, I
know.”
“Well, then
you know what that means, don’t you?”
He was
silent.
“Do you or
don't you intend to honor that contract, young man.”
A grin tugged
at his lips. Although Ruthie's voice held a hint of amusement, he sensed her
taking this line of offense immensely serious.
Knowing in
advance how Ruthie Cavarlho operated, he proceeded with caution. “Ruthie, it’s
not really a contract.”
“It’s in black
and white.”
“Yes, but…it’s
bogus. There was no serious intention of marriage by either of us, no meeting
of the minds. No-”
“Devin, dear,
don’t talk to me in legal mumbo jumbo. I don’t understand a word of it.”
“It was a
joke. It’s not legal.”
“Not legal,”
Ruthie grunted.
There was
silence on the other end of the line for a few seconds. Devin picked up the
ball point pen he'd strangled earlier and started tapping in his desk to fill in
the void.
“Would Cara
know this?” Ruthie finally asked.
“Well, I-”
“I'll bet she
doesn't,” she proclaimed, an undertone of hope resonating in her words. He
could almost hear the wheels in her head spinning triumphantly when she
declared, “What she doesn't know won't hurt her.”
A grin tugged
at his lips. “Ruthie, what are you up to?”“Nothing. I’m
merely planning a birthday party for my single daughter, and I would love for
you to attend. Is there anything wrong with that?”
“Of course
not.”
“And once
you're here, if things should happen to, how shall we say, fall into place, then
so be it.”
He had to
laugh. It surprised him how good it felt inside. He'd always been a sucker for
Ruthie’s charm and seventeen years of passing time had made no difference.
“Devin
Michaels, you know how fond I am of you. I've never made any bones about that,”
she admitted warmly. “And all these years I have been praying my daughter would
someday find a nice man just like you. So why can’t it be you? I know
you care for Cara.”
He couldn’t
deny that. But it had never been the way Ruthie had always wanted. What he and
Cara had shared was friendship, nothing more. His whole world with Cara felt
like a lifetime ago. And at the same time, their friendship was so close to his
heart he could almost touch it.
His heart
pounded in his chest and he rubbed the spot that squeezed tight. “I'll see what
I can do,” he conceded, his smile fading. “But I can't make any promises.”
“Be sure to
bring your tuxedo.”
He heard the
phone click just as Brenda paged him again. “They're waiting for you in the
conference room.”
He cradled the
phone in his palm wondering what the hell had just happened? He couldn’t quite
get a grip on the flood of emotions coursing through him. Dropping the phone,
he fingered the pink slip on his desk with Ruthie Cavarlho's name scribbled on
it for a good long time.
He wanted to
see Cara. More than he could even think right now. There was a time when the
very first person—the only person—he'd seek out was Cara. She'd certainly seen
him through the worst times in his life. And some of the best.
This was it,
he realized. Going back to Westport to reconnect with his best friend was the
medicine he needed help him get his life back on track.
Devin pressed
the intercom button on the panel, suddenly feeling good for the first time in
days. “Cancel,” he said briskly, the rush of excitement from this morning’s
victorious court appearance long forgotten. The excitement of a new battle took
its place.
“I...I beg
your pardon.”
“I said
cancel! Make some excuse, I don't care what it is.” Rubbing his face with his
hand, he drew in a long breath. He couldn't believe he was actually considering
something so foolish, so destructive, putting everything he'd work so hard for
on the line.
All he had to
do was make a few calls and he could catch the next flight. In a matter of
hours he'd be standing face to face with Cara. Something inside him clicked, as
if everything that was laid out before him no longer held any meaning. He knew
what he had to do.
“Cancel the
rest of the day, too. In fact, cancel the month. I'm taking a leave of absence
starting now.”
He heard
Brenda’s slight gasp. “Mr. Michaels, I don't understand-”
“Just do it!
And Brenda, get me my realtor--” His voice broke off, “No, never mind. I'll
take care of that myself.”
He leaned back
in his chair and swung the seat around. Rubbing his chin between his thumb and
index finger, he stared vacantly at the Manhattan skyline. The city he'd sought
out in his youth, that drove him with every beat of his heart, had lost its
magic with a single phone call. The unsettled feeling that had plagued him for
the past few months suddenly lifted and he could finally breathe again. He was
taking a new direction, and it felt great.
Hearing the
buzz from Brenda again, he swung around and saw the light panel on his phone lit
up like a Christmas tree. The grapevine in this office was as fast as a New
York cabby racing from one green light to the next. He could almost hear the
whispering vultures strategically planning his downfall outside his office door,
starting with the moment he walked through it. And suddenly he didn’t give a
damn what they did.
Brenda sounded
again with a repeated buzz that spoke of urgency. If he didn't make a quick
getaway soon, the senior partners were sure to barrel through the doors of his
office in full justifiable protest.
* * *
Cara smiled
regally at the many people inspecting the odds and ends she and her family had
accumulated her entire life and had displayed on their front lawn for purchase.
She was annoyed, to say the least, at their perusal. This was her life they
were scrutinizing!
When had she
gotten so sentimental? Sure, her parents were moving away, selling the home she
loved so much. But she'd left home long ago. Maybe it was just her time of the
month. No, that would mean she had perpetual PMS for feeling the way she did.
Who could possibly endure that?
Or maybe...it
was because Roger, the man she'd been dating for the past year and a half, had
become a fixture she wasn’t sure she wanted to keep in her life. She'd been a
success in business, lived on her own in her Back Bay condo for the past few
years. But this thirty-five thing was beginning to hit home.
She pushed the
thought away, refusing to believe that her internal clock was waging war, and
she was losing the battle.
“Is this real
crystal?” a young woman—still a girl really—asked, holding the carafe Cara had
given her mother as a birthday gift when she was fifteen. Her other arm was
wrapped tightly around the waist of a young man. Amorous glances and giggles
reflected the youth of their love. She wondered if they were newly married,
filling their home with items they would someday put up for sale on their front
lawn.
“Yes,” she
replied shortly, watching the young man knock over a vase. He had a familiar
stand. It took her a moment, but she realized that he reminded her of a young
Devin Michaels.
Funny. Ever
since she found that damned birthday card, her mind wandered until it settled on
Devin Michaels.
“We’ll take
it,” the young man said, smiling affectionately at the girl. After digging
through his wallet, he handed her the amount indicated on the little white tag
Cara had so carefully placed on the bottle the previous evening. With their
hands entwined, the young couple walked away.
That's when
she thought she caught a glimpse of him. Devin Michaels. She stood on
the far side of the lawn, squinting from the sun’s harsh rays to focus on the
man strolling through the open white picket gate. A dozen or so people had
stopped and parked along the side of the road and were now leisurely waltzing
across her parents lawn.
The man could
just as easily be someone who lived along the beach, just out for a stroll.
She’d lived away from home so long that she’d lost touch with the comings and
goings of neighbors. It couldn't possibly be Devin just because her mind
suddenly wanted it to be. But as he ambled closer, she knew without a doubt it
was Devin.
A glimmer of
recognition registered on his face when their eyes met, and his mouth tilted to
reveal a perfect smile. Her breath lodged in her throat, and she couldn’t keep
from feeling giddy. Nibbling on her bottom lip, she fought to compose
herself.
The years had
been good to him. The lanky boy he once was had filled out in all the right
places. The man sauntering toward her now had wide shoulders and ripples along
his chest, clearly visible beneath his polo shirt, a telltale sign that he spent
time working out regularly. His charcoal eyes had deepened in color, giving off
a masculine power of attraction that seared straight through her. It wasn't the
Devin Michaels that she remembered from her youth, the shy but funny friend
she'd teased so often. He was a man now. Powerful, stunning in movement and
frightening with his dynamic presence all at the same time.
But he was
still Devin Michaels, her childhood buddy.
“Devin,” she
said, catching her breath when he was finally standing before her. She looked
up and noticed the inches he'd grown taller. He was now at least six inches
taller than her five foot seven inch frame.
“Hello, mia
Cara.” The words of endearment rolled off his tongue with ease, sounding as
soothing as the ocean that lulled her to sleep at night. My dear one was the
meaning. Her grandmother had referred to her that way on countless occasions in
her youth, which Devin had teased her about when he'd been privy to hear. But
this time, the pure emotion with which he spoke the simple words cascaded over
her like the incoming tide.
Purchase THE MARRIAGE CONTRACT
No comments:
Post a Comment