“Good,” she said forcefully. “I want to talk to you.”
Nicole only raised her eyebrows.
Claire refused to be intimidated. “Look. I respect who you are and all of your relationships. I know Wyatt is your friend. I’m not trying to change that.”
“You couldn’t.”
Claire felt a little of her strength fading away, but she kept her mind focused. “That’s not what I meant. The thing is you’re not interested in dating him and I am. I don’t know what your problem is. If you think I’m not good enough for him or what, but you’re just going to have to get over it.”
“You’re going out,” Nicole said, sounding tired.
“Yes, we are. He asked and I accepted. You can fight and pout and protest, but you can’t change what’s going to happen. Besides, it would be wrong of you to suggest otherwise.”
Nicole stared at her. “Anything else?”
“Yes. Several things. I’m sorry for what happened to you. I’m sorry that Drew slept with Jesse. I’m sorry your own sister betrayed you. I’m sorry you got stuck working in the bakery and you think you were cheated out of your life. I’m sorry you lost your mom. But I lost out, too.”
Nicole started to speak, but Claire held up her hand.
“I’m not done. It happened to me, too. And you’ve never once considered that. You’ve totally blown me off and dismissed any feelings I might have had. I’ve spent the past ten years trying to connect with you. You’ve ignored my phone calls, my letters, everything. Yet when Jesse called, I dropped everything to be here with you.”
“According to what I hear, there wasn’t much to drop.”
Claire ignored that. “There was enough and that’s not the point. You’re my sister and I wanted to be here for you. It wouldn’t have mattered what I’d had on my schedule. I still would have shown up, because you needed me. Because you matter to me.”
Claire fought a sudden wave of emotion. “When we were five, you went to a birthday party and I couldn’t go because I had to practice. I cried and cried, but my teacher didn’t care. You got the chicken pox and they tried to keep me away from you because they didn’t want me getting sick, either. But I just wanted to be with you. I crawled into bed with you that night and I got sick, too. Because you’re my sister.”
“You already said that,” Nicole murmured.
“You don’t seem to remember it very much. So here’s the thing. I’m not going away this time. We’re going to figure out how to have a relationship and I’m not leaving until we do. It would help if you acted human once in a while and showed a little gratitude. You could even be friendly. But whatever you decide, you need to get off my ass because you weren’t the only one who didn’t get to make a lot of choices about her life.”
“You’re really pissing me off,” Nicole said.
“Ask me if I care.”
They stood there, staring at each. Claire didn’t know what to think, she only knew she wasn’t backing down.
“Fine,” Nicole grumbled, staring at the floor. “Date Wyatt. I don’t care.”
“Really?”
Her sister nodded. “And thank you for coming. You didn’t have to do that.”
Claire grinned. She felt lighter and happier. “You would have been totally screwed without me.”
“Don’t push it.”
“I still have scars from the chicken pox. You so owe me.”
Nicole smiled slowly. “Yeah, maybe I do.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“MIXED TWO DOZEN BAGELS,” the man in the suit said, pausing his cell phone conversation long enough to place the order, then saying, “I need those numbers by the time I walk in the door. Numbers, not excuses.”
Claire collected the bagels, rang up the order and handed him his bag. “Number ninety-eight,” she yelled.“Two glazed doughnuts and a large coffee with extra room for milk.”
“Got it.”
She moved quickly and efficiently, getting the doughnuts, then pouring the coffee. She took the money, made change and called out for the next customer.
A well-dressed woman approached the counter. “I want to order a custom cake,” she said. “I’m in a hurry.”
“No problem,” Claire told her as she moved to the counter off to the side. She pulled out the special order book and took a sheet. “What are you looking for?”
“The Keyes cake,” the woman said. “But with custard filling, not chocolate.”
Claire smiled. “I’m sorry but we don’t make changes on the Keyes cake. We have other chocolate cakes we can customize any way you like, but the Keyes cake recipe is a tradition we don’t mess with.”
“Excuse me, but I’m the customer. Your job is to give me exactly what I want. I’ve told you what I want, now do it.”
Claire allowed herself a moment of visualizing the hostile customer covered in frosting and being attacked by flying sprinkles, then she smiled again.
“There are a few things in life that shouldn’t be changed. You wouldn’t want the Mona Lisa to suddenly become a nurse or have someone put a hula skirt on the Statue of Liberty.”
“You can’t possibly be comparing your ridiculous cake with either of those.”
“Have you had the Keyes cake before?”
The woman sniffed. “It’s just a cake.”
“I’ll take that as a no. It’s beyond wonderful. Trust me. My family spent sixty years getting that cake recipe right. So which would you rather have? An honest-to-goodness legend, or one of our other cakes made to your exact specifications? Or you could get one of each and have a taste test. It might be fun for your guests.”
“I suppose that’s a possibility.”
“It would be a great ending for the evening.”
The woman hesitated, then ordered a regular chocolate cake, with the custard filling and the special Keyes chocolate cake. When she’d paid and left, Phil looked at her.
“She’s been here before, that woman. She’s not easy. You did good.”
Simple words, Claire thought, a sense of pride swelling inside of her. “Thanks.”
“I didn’t think you’d make it, but you didn’t give up. That’s something.”
Claire grinned. “You’ve made my week.”
It was only when she’d moved on to the next customer that she realized she’d never once thought about panicking. She’d done what needed to be done. It was a great feeling and one she wanted to have again.
“MAYBE,” NICOLE SAID, as she leaned back on Claire’s bed. “Are you really going to wear jeans on your date?”
Claire didn’t mention they had been Jesse’s idea. “I thought my other clothes were too dressy. These have a dark wash and I’m wearing them with high-heeled boots.”“Very fashion forward,” Nicole said as she shoved another pillow behind her head. “But Wyatt knows you’re all Park Avenue. He’ll dress up and you’ll feel funny in jeans. What about those white wool slacks. Those are really nice.”
“He’s seen them.”
“With what?”
“A white sweater. Well, ivory. Technically the outfit is ivory.”
Nicole rolled her eyes. “Of course it is. Do you have a different sweater?”
Claire looked through her clothes and pulled out one that was a pale blue with threads of light silver shot through it. “I never wear this one,” she said, half to herself, “even though I really like it. Maybe with pearls.”
“Earrings maybe, but not a strand of pearls. That’s too old lady. The color will be great with your hair and your eyes.”
She held the sweater up to herself and looked in the mirror. Honestly she didn’t see any difference, but she was willing to be wrong.
“Okay. I’ll wear this sweater with the ivory slacks. I have pretty silver heels and a great bag.”
Nicole wrinkled her nose. “That goes without saying. All your stuff is great. You must really like shopping.”
Claire wondered if they were about to get into dangerous territory. “Not really. Lisa buys stuff and I either keep it or not. I don’t really have time to go to stores.”
She braced herself for a sarcastic comment but Nicole only nodded. “From what she said, your days did seem full. Is that your real hair color?”
Claire fingered a strand. “I get highlights.”
“Maybe I should do that. My hair seems really dull and boring compared with your forty-seven colors.”
“It’s about five different highlights,” she admitted. “It takes forever, but the different shades make it easier as it grows out. No obvious roots.”
“A plus when you’re traveling.”
Claire nodded slowly, looking for sarcasm in her sister’s comment, but not finding any. “It helps.”
Nicole stood. “I should let you get dressed. Wyatt will be here soon and I don’t want you to keep him waiting. Under the circumstances, it would be too weird for me to make polite conversation.”
Knowing she was probably asking for trouble, Claire said, “Thanks for all your help and advice.”
Nicole shrugged. “Just trying not to be the Bitch Queen of the Western World.”
“You’re doing a great job.”
“Gee, thanks.”
When Nicole had left, Claire plugged in her electric curlers. She wasn’t going for some fabulous style, just a little body in her hair. She curled it, applied light makeup, then dressed, fussed with her hair and shrieked when she glanced at her watch and saw Wyatt was due any second. As she opened her bedroom door, she heard Nicole yell, “Get your skinny ass down here. He’s pulling up and I will not act like your mother.”
“I’m ready,” Claire called back and hurried toward the front door.
“You’re on time,” Wyatt said by way of greeting. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Oh. Okay.” Were women usually late for dates? Nicole hadn’t said anything. “Did you, ah, want to come in?” As she spoke, she glanced over her shoulder and saw Nicole shaking her head and motioning for them to leave. “Or we could just go. That might be better.”
“Sure.”
She grabbed her purse and went outside. Even with her wearing high heels, he was still a lot taller. And bigger. He was also dressed differently. A dress shirt and dark slacks replaced the jeans and plaid shirts he usually wore. He looked nice. Was she allowed to say that to a guy?
They approached his truck. He opened the passenger door and waited for her to move inside. As she brushed past him, she was jolted by awareness and a massive case of nerves.
“Do you eat meat?” he asked. “I couldn’t remember if I’d ever seen you eat any. You’re not a vegetarian, are you?”
She laughed. “No. I eat meat.”
“Good. We’re going to a terrific steak place. Buchanans. It’s one of my favorites. They have great food.”
“Sounds perfect.”
They talked about Amy and the bakery on the drive to the restaurant. Wyatt pulled up in front of the valet sign and handed over the keys, then came around and opened her door. Once they were inside, he told the hostess they had reservations.
Claire liked that he’d planned their evening together. She also liked the restaurant. It was intimate, all rich woods and leather booths. It was atmospheric without being dark, and elegant without being intimidating.
They were shown to a booth in the corner. After they’d slid onto their seats, the hostess put their menus on the table, along with the wine list, then left.
“You look good,” Wyatt said.
Claire paused in the act of reaching for her menu. “Ah, thank you.” She felt heat on her cheeks and was grateful for the subtle lighting. “Thanks for asking me out. This is really fun.”
“Don’t you want to wait until the evening is over to decide that?”
She smiled. “I don’t have to.”
He raised one eyebrow. “Are you flirting with me?”
“Maybe a little.”
“Good.”
The blush turned into a glow.
Wyatt didn’t need to look at the menu. He’d been to Buchanan’s enough times to know what he liked. But he enjoyed watching Claire study the selections. She looked intense, as if her decision had consequences.
He still hadn’t decided if asking her out had been smart or not. He was attracted to her, she was single and sexy as hell. Dating made sense.
Except she was Nicole’s sister and no one he would normally meet, let alone get involved with. A few minutes on the Internet had produced more information on Claire Keyes than he’d expected. She was famous, revered and adored on every continent she’d visited. Critics loved her, fans worshipped her and she’d had multiple bestselling CDs. He was a guy who built houses in Seattle. What was wrong with this picture?
“Would you like to order a bottle of wine?” he asked, refusing to talk himself out of the evening before it had even begun.
“That would be great. Do you—”
Just then a man in a tux walked over to their table. “Good evening. I am Marcellin, your sommelier. I heard you mention wine and my ears perked up. May I offer some assistance?”
He had a French accent that sounded so perfect, Wyatt wondered if it was fake. Before he could decide whether or not to use Marcellin’s services, Claire began speaking to him. In French.
They chatted for a few minutes, before Marcellin excused himself. Claire turned to Wyatt.