Nothing In Common Part 3

His buddies would think he was crazy if he let on his true track record. He'd hadn't slept with a woman for over a year, when the one-night stand he'd planned to have became an awkward confrontation with a love-starved woman who threatened to slit her wrists because he didn't love her.

Alex didn't know what, exactly, he was waiting for, but the more he tried to put Sarah Lazin out of his mind, the more stubbornly she insisted on sticking in it. Her blue ice eyes winked at him from the freezer when he went to do inventory. The complimentary cups of coffee he poured his best customers reminded him too much of her sleek brown curls. The flowers he'd ordered made him think of her fresh, light scent...

It took another trip to the freezer for him to cool off. By the time he gathered the wait staff for pre-dinner instructions, he'd managed to get himself a little bit under control. "Full house tonight, folks. I want to see everyone hopping. You know I won't be here later tonight, so I'm trusting all of you to make things swing."

"I didn't know you liked to swing, Alex." Jennifer, the blonde hostess, gave him a wink. Today she wore a vibrant red suit of some s.h.i.+ny material. Though not inappropriate in any way, the suit still managed to show off a good deal of tanned thigh and bosom. Jennifer's honey-colored hair was swept off her face and emphasized her high cheeks and vivid, cornflower-blue eyes. She was what his buddies would call a hottie.

"Save it for the customers," he told her good-naturedly.

"You're such a flirt," Wendi, one of the waitresses, told Jennifer. She flung her waist-length braid of chestnut hair over her shoulder. The two were best friends.

Jennifer rolled her eyes toward her friend. "And you're not?"

The rest of the staff had drifted away to their other duties. Alex, his mind already on other things, began looking over the list of the night's specials.

Emma's homemade gnocchi was one of them, and Alex looked forward to sampling some of it himself.

"We'll miss you later," Jen said.

Alex startled. So involved in the specials, Alex hadn't noticed the tall blonde next to him until he felt her breath on his cheek.

She pouted. "The night s.h.i.+ft isn't the same with Frank."

Frank Philips was the night manager. A short, balding man with a wife and six children, he was both personable and efficient. Still, he wasn't exactly Jen's type.

"You'll manage," he told her.

She ran her fingers lightly over his arm. "Where will you be tonight? You hardly ever leave the restaurant on Thursday nights."

Alex shrugged off her grasp. "I have a meeting. Now, Jen, if you don't mind..."

"Sure. Lots of work to do. We know, Alex."

Wendi giggled. "What a slave driver. Don't get out the whips and chains, Alex."

"Wait until after work," Jen added, and the pair finally left him alone.

Watching the two women undulate away from him, Alex, for the first time, found their harmless flirtation annoying. Though he appreciated a beautiful face and body as much as any man, he emphatically did not date employees. Even if that had not been one of his personal rules, Jen and Wendi were too predacious even for him. He preferred to do the pursuing.

Not that it had done much good with Sarah.

"I should've kissed her," he mumbled grimly.

But he hadn't kissed her. For some reason, he'd lost his nerve. Staring at her up tilted face, her lovely eyes closed and those perfect lips just ripe and waiting for his mouth to close on hers ... All at once, all he could think about was how much he liked her. She was smart and funny and s.e.xier than any woman he'd been out with in a long time. He wanted to kiss her, sure, but not just standing on the sidewalk. When he kissed Sarah Lazin, he wanted it to be in a place and circ.u.mstance where a kiss did not have to end the evening.

"'lo, boss," Emma chirped from behind him. Tomato sauce smeared her chin and flour smudged her cheek. Alex could imagine Michel's Gallic shudder at the appearance of Emma's white top, which was spotted with more sauce.

"Mike said I was supposed to come and talk to you about the tomato sauce."

Thankful to have his thoughts torn away from the intriguing and annoying Sarah Lazin, Alex frowned at the young woman in front of him as sternly as he could. It was a hard effect to master, especially since Emma's green eyes twinkled so merrily. She grinned at him, her freckled nose squinching.

"Too spicy, Emma. You know what I've said in the past about spicy sauce."

"Ah, c'mon, boss." Emma threw up her hands. "Don't you know spice is the variety of life? Or something like that anyway."

Alex sighed, but smiled at Emma. "Do you do this just to get on Michel's nerves or mine?"

Emma squeezed him around the waist affectionately. The top of her head barely reached his shoulders. "Both, boss. It's my mission in life to keep you men on your toes. Besides, adding more sugar would ruin that sauce. How can you put a sweet tomato sauce over my homemade gnocchi? It'd be a sin. A culinary sin."

"Just remember, Emma, you're the sous-chef. Michel is your boss."

"I can get around that," Emma retorted saucily.

"I bet you can."

With just a smile, Emma could have Michel not knowing whether he was slicing or dicing. Alex had seen it more than once. Though they'd never so much as gone on a date, Emma was clearly certain of the chef's romantic inclinations toward her. It was equally obvious to any who knew them that Michel would never admit to such an attraction.

"Boss?

"Hmmm?" Alex turned back to the specials list.

Thursday nights were Italian night at The Foxfire, with several pasta dishes in addition to Emma's gnocchi featured. Completely involved with perusing the menu, Alex didn't notice Emma's silence until he turned to find her staring at him, bemus.e.m.e.nt clear upon her freckled face.

"Who is she?" Emma's merry green eyes glinted knowingly.

"Who is who?"

"The bit of fluff who's got you so riled. I could tell something's been on your mind all day. All week, too. You haven't been out of the house except to come to work, and I've actually been able to make a phone call or two. Was it that busty blonde who likes to ride horses? Or the skinny chick who always smelled like gardenias?" She paused, as though a horrible thought had just come to her. "Please don't tell me it's Wendi."

Alex set his jaw. "You know better than that."

Emma sniffed. "Thank G.o.d. So who was it?"

Alex shook his head. Emma knew way too much about his social life. He supposed that was the problem when you not only hired your niece as sous-chef in your restaurant, but let her live in your house, too.

"It doesn't matter, Emma. She wasn't interested in me."

Emma stepped back, looking impressed. "Was she blind? I mean, boss! Look at you! Every woman who walks in here wants to be on you like b.u.t.ter on a cob of corn!"

"Thanks, Em," Alex replied dryly.

"She really didn't go for you, huh?" Emma appeared sympathetic. "That's a first."

Her casual a.s.sessment of his love life suddenly annoyed him. "You make me sound like some kind of Don Juan."

"And you're not?" She raised her eyebrows at him and looked so much like his older sister he might have laughed ... had he not been in such a bad mood.

He scowled instead, showing her his back. "No, I'm not. Dating a lot of woman just means I haven't been lucky enough to find the right one yet, that's all, Emma."

"Sorry, boss." Emma paused. "I was trying to make you feel better, not worse."

Alex forced a smile on his face for the effervescent young chef. It wasn't her fault Sarah Lazin had rejected him. Nor was it Emma's fault he couldn't get Sarah out of his mind.

"Thanks, Emma. But I'm fine."

Emma patted his shoulder kindly. "If you say so, boss. If you say so."

Why was everyone so crazed by five o'clock? It made Sarah sullen. She lost her parking spot to a pair of middle-aged women driving a Mercedes. She'd had to fight traffic all the way from her office, and now the parking lot was a zoo. Sarah swung around the lot again, finally parking so far away from the mall she practically needed binoculars to find the building.

She had some time to kill before the meeting at Rivka's gallery and there was no sense in running all the way home. She'd hit the bookstore. Stephen King's latest novel had just been released, and Sarah was aching to get her hands on a copy. She was a manic King fan, devouring his books in hours.

So intent was she on cutting through the crowd toward the bookstore, Sarah nearly tripped over a parcel someone had carelessly left on the floor. Biting her tongue as the pain in her toe moved her to curse, Sarah stepped back and focused her attention on the package's owner. The pet.i.te, platinum blonde glared at her with barely veiled distaste and cradled her violated parcel like it was a wounded child.

"h.e.l.lo, Sarah," the man with the blonde said, his voice so cool it made Sarah's arms perk with gooseb.u.mps.

"William." She sounded stiff. Her stomach twisted. He looked as handsome as ever, his sandy hair perfectly styled and his fit body perfectly clothed. He still looked as though he could have stepped off the cover of GQ.

"Haven't seen you for a while, Sussy." William seemed oblivious to the fact his every word was a sword in her side. He'd even called her Sussy, which he knew she hated.

"Well, you wouldn't have, would you?" Sarah was glad to hear that, while William's appearance might be tearing up her insides, her voice remained steady.

William laughed, a completely insincere booming sound. "This is my wife, Pansy." He tugged forward the pet.i.te blonde, who stared at Sarah as though she had just vomited on Pansy's elegant suede boots. "Pansy, this is Sussy Lazin."

"Charmed." Pansy briefly touched Sarah's fingers with her own.

"Congratulations," Sarah managed to say.

"Thanks." William patted her arm. "You ought to think about tanning, Suss. You look like death warmed over."

Then he was gone, taking Pansy with him. Heedless of the crowd surging around her, Sarah stared after them until finally someone b.u.mped into her. Realizing she was making a spectacle of herself, Sarah sank down onto the nearby bench and forced her hands to stop shaking. The pain had bloomed again with vicious brilliance.

"You're a nice girl, Sussy," William had said to her--the memory as clear as spring water. He had taken her to dinner at their favorite restaurant. She had thought he was going to propose. Instead, he had broken her heart. "Nice, but not quite enough for me. I need someone a lot ... prettier, Suss."

Sarah had nearly choked on her dinner roll. William's nightmarish words echoed in her head like discordant church bells. "We've been together nearly a year, William. You only decided this now?"

William had smiled, though the expression didn't reach his brown eyes. "It was a kick at first, you know. To see what it would be like to be average. After a while, I just figured I was doing you a favor, Sussy. I'm tired of doing you a favor."

Incredibly, he had wanted to finish the meal. He had not understood why Sarah had left the table, or why she had refused to allow him to drive her home. "After all," he had told her, "it's not like you ought to have believed me when I told you I loved you.

"That's just what people say," he had said. "My G.o.d, Sarah, don't tell me you were foolish enough to think a man like me could ever love someone like you."

William had left her s.h.i.+vering in the winter wind outside that restaurant. He hadn't even given her money for cab fare. Sarah had walked home. She tossed her pretty shoes in the gutter when one heel broke, and shredded her stockings on the gravel. Her feet had healed, but her heart had not.

Sarah sat on the bench for a long time and watched the ebb and flow of evening shoppers pa.s.s her by. She didn't want to hurt this much over something as sad and simple as running into an old lover, yet she did. Finally, she forced herself off the bench and headed again toward the bookstore. Not even the heavy novel could lift her spirits.

Thoroughly depressed, she headed over to the new gallery, pausing to put a smile on her face before she went inside. She didn't want to ruin her sister's joy at the new project. The gallery looked gorgeous. Even missing the few final touches that would make it complete, Sarah couldn't help being impressed by the building's exquisitely designed interior. Rivka's influence, of course. It was visible in everything from the tiled entryway to the whimsical sunflower-shaped soap dispensers in the restroom.

"Wow," was all she could say when her sister had finished the brief tour. "It's wonderful, Riv. I'm really impressed. It'll be the nicest gallery you've ever shown in."

"I haven't shown you the best part," Rivka said, drawing Sarah out of the main s.p.a.ce and into a smaller room. "I call this The Bold Room. It's for you, Sarai."

The rest of the gallery was still empty, waiting for the arrival of Rivka's paintings, but The Bold Room had already been filled. Three walls of the room had been hung with Rivka's canva.s.ses, while the center of the room held only some comfortable chairs.

Paintings of Sarah filled the room.

"Why, Rivka?" Sarah managed to ask. At the sight of her sister's generous gift, tears had welled in her eyes. She sank into one of the plush seats, unable to keep the grin from bursting through her tears.

"Because I've never devoted a whole show to my paintings of you before."

To Sarah's surprise, her normally cheerful sister was teary-eyed as well.

Rivka sat down beside Sarah and took her hand. "You deserve this. Without you, I never would've been able to make myself such a success."

"Oh, Riv." Sarah tried to wave away her sister's praise, but Rivka refused to let her.

"It's true!" Rivka gave her sister a fierce hug. "You've always been there for me. Whenever I thought about quitting, getting a real job, I could always count on you to talk me through. It was your job at the magazine that kept me in canvas and paints before my first sales. It was your couch I camped on, and Mick, too, when we couldn't afford the rent on our apartment. You haven't done anything but help us out, Sarai, and I wanted everyone to know that. My sister, the bold."

The sisters shared a sentimental hug before being interrupted by a sound from the doorway. "And sure, if it isn't a fine sight I'm seeing! The two of ya, blathering like a pair of ninnies!"

"Hi, Mick." Sarah rose to greet her brother-in-law with a hug and kiss to the cheek. "Isn't this great?"

"Ah, wee Sarah, 'tis the best part of the whole d.a.m.n gallery," Mick said sincerely, his faint Irish brogue thickening noticeably with emotion. "We couldna done it without you, la.s.s."

"Don't you start," Rivka admonished, shaking her head. She scrubbed her face free of tears. "You Irish. Ready to cry at the drop of a hat."

Mick pressed a pa.s.sionate kiss to his wife's mouth. "Ah, go on with you, Rivka Lazin Delaney. 'Tis enough of your abuse I've had."

"You didn't say that last night," Rivka countered, squeezing his b.u.m affectionately. The pair giggled and cooed like a couple of teenagers.

They always acted that way, though they had now been married for almost ten years. Rivka had met him at one of his concerts. The Roving Ramblers, Mick's band, were well known throughout the area for their unique blend of traditional Celtic and Cajun music. A slight man with a mop of ink-dark hair and a face creased from smiling, Mick had decided not to return to Ireland after meeting Rivka.

"You've a fine mouth," Mick scolded in jest. "To talk in front of your sister that way."

"Let me show you how fine my mouth is." Rivka countered by kissing him again.

Sarah, who was used to the antics of the pair, merely rolled her eyes. She decided to leave them to their mock fighting and look at the room Rivka had named for her. The first painting patrons would see when they entered was the first Rivka had ever done of her, and Sarah's favorite. In it, she was sitting in their grandmother's rocking chair--her feet bare and her hair tangled. She was smiling.

It was not only a good likeness, but flattering, too. In it, she looked actually pretty. If only her sister's vision could be what Sarah saw when she looked in the mirror every day.

There were other portraits, not all of them Sarah as she truly appeared. In some, her features had been blended with those of her mother or grandmother. "Lighting the Sabbath Candles" had Sarah clothed in the dress her great-grandmother had worn on her wedding day in Russia, while "Sunday at the Park" showed her as a child. Rivka had painted that one from memory. Finally, Sarah had toured the whole room and came to the last.

t.i.tled simply "Sarai," it showed her standing in front of a bed of flowers, their vibrant colors seeming nearly to writhe off the page. The brush strokes were bold, almost harsh. Thick layers of paint created a three-dimensional look to the piece that was Rivka's signature style.

In the portrait, Sarah's arms were raised above her head and her hands stretched toward the blazing orange sun at the top of the canvas. Her face was slightly turned so the viewer could catch only a glimpse of her eyes and mouth. Barely enough by which to identify her, for which Sarah was eternally thankful. The portrait was a nude, faithful down to the mole on her right thigh and the way her left breast was slightly fuller than her right.

"Greetings, all," Martin said jovially. A portly, silver-haired man, he always wore an immaculate three-piece suite and had a deep, booming voice. He had taken on Rivka as a client long before she had ever gained any notoriety. The Gallery on Second was a much his success as it was hers. "The first meeting of the Delaney Partners.h.i.+p is about ready to roll, eh?"