Awakening Beauty. Amy J. Fetzer

while to get parts. This is a loaner.”

      It was black SUV. One of the smaller models and it looked brand-new.

      “My insurance offers a loaner.”

      “So does mine,” he said. “That’s it.”

      “I don’t think so.”

      “Look, I’m at fault. My insurance pays.”

      “That’s a McKay Enterprises car. I’ve seen them.”

      “It might look like one, but it’s not.” He studied her for a second longer than she wanted. “You’re spoiling for an argument, aren’t you?”

      “Yes. Can’t you tell by my tone?”

      “If I knew you better…”

      She gave him a thin look that said it wasn’t going to happen.

      “Okay, stay a stranger, but you still need a car.” He dangled the keys.

      “I have one and as soon as it’s repaired, I’ll—”

      “—still have a piece of junk.”

      Her chin tipped up, her lips twitching. “I like to think I’ve been driving cars with character.”

      “That one was a bad seed, trust me. It’s time you made better friends.”

      Her pride reared. “Do you dictate to everyone or just me?”

      “If I thought I could, I’d try harder to get you to join the festival.”

      Another thin look. “Don’t get off the subject,” she warned. “I don’t need your car or your money, McKay. I don’t want it, in fact.”

      Tyler grinned. Big. And Lane felt her heart skip all the way to her throat and shiver with pleasure for a couple seconds. It made her light-headed. When was the last time she met anyone who smiled so much? Who was just plain happy with life?

      Oh, gee, said a voice in her head. Doesn’t the fact that he’s worth millions have something to do with that? He didn’t have much to worry about, did he?

      Money made people strange. But from her experience, it didn’t generate an attitude like his. Which she was still trying to figure out. Why was he flirting with her? Or was he just testing his charm on the homely girl? In her present lackluster state of dress, hair and makeup, she knew she wasn’t attractive. It was intentional. A goal to blend into the woodwork and not be noticed. The less recognizable she was, the better.

      She’d been a designer with her own couture showrooms in Paris and Milan. She knew what clothing flattered, what hid, what exposed. Now she chose not to expose anything, using the wrong colors and styles, and wearing her normally short hair longer and whipped tight to her head. She wore glasses because she needed them, and she had a darling trendy pair upstairs in her apartment. Yet when she was in public, she wore round, plain, tortoiseshell glasses. They were too large for her face and the color of her eyes. Another good shield to hide behind.

      “I’ve come to ask for community service again.”

      “My store is my community service.”

      “But the children,” he said, pouring a little whine into his voice.

      Inside, she was cracking up over this guy. He made her want to smile, but he’d take the smile as encouragement. “That’s unfair.”

      He shrugged. “I use what I can.”

      “The last time I was with a child, I was one. Besides, the kids have parents to volunteer. PTA, bake sales. I really have nothing to offer.” It was sad but true. A couture designer wouldn’t be much good in a pie-baking contest.

      The bell over the door tinkled and a woman stepped inside. She paused at the entrance, which was the foyer of the old house, and looked around. Inspecting a bit, Lane decided. She was slim and petite, her silver hair cut to perfection in a sleek bob. Her clothes, the next thing Lane focused on, were classic. Camel cashmere slacks and a navy blouse with a camel wool jacket. She’d draped a printed scarf over her shoulder and across her chest, secured with a small glittering pin. Elegant, Lane thought as the woman moved forward.

      She stopped beside Tyler, and from Lane’s perspective, he seemed to loom over the woman.

      “Hello, Mother,” he said in a tone tinged with annoyance. “Didn’t our discussion yesterday mean anything?”

      “You dictated, I didn’t listen. I’m your mother, I’m allowed.” She gave him a backhanded smack in the middle of his chest. “Introduce us.”

      Lane’s gaze shot to Tyler as she moved out from behind the counter. “Welcome, Mrs. McKay. I’m Lane Douglas. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Diana Ashbury talks of you often.”

      “It’s a pleasure, dear. And call me Laura. I popped in once with Diana a while back. She loves your store.”

      “She hides in the corner with a cup of coffee and the latest thriller.”

      “I think she comes for the cappuccino and quiet more than the books.”

      Lane offered them coffee, crossing into the old living-room area to make it. While she prepared the coffee, the noise from the steam pressure drowned out whatever Tyler and his mother were saying. A quick glance caught Tyler’s scowl and his mom shooing him off.

      Mother and son approached the counter, still talking. About her.

      “I was trying to convince Lane to join the festival, and seeing as that won’t work…yet, I’m trying to settle for help with the pageant.”

      Lane glared over the counter at him. “So you brought out the big guns?”

      He glanced briefly at his mother. “I knew it would be a heavy battle.”

      “Have you no manners? No means no, McKay.”

      “My mother was just commenting on my manners the other day.” He winked at his mom. “Must have been those college years out from under her iron thumb.”

      “Tyler, behave.”

      “Yes, ma’am.”

      Lane had to smile. At least someone could get him to back down.

      “We could really use extra help,” Laura McKay said.

      “She thinks that’s what parents are for.”

      Lane pinned Tyler with a hard look. “I can speak for myself, thank you.” She looked at Laura as she came around the edge of the cappuccino bar with two froth-filled mugs. “I hope you understand that I really don’t want to spread myself so thin when I’ve just opened the store this year and I’m running it alone.”

      Laura sipped her cappuccino, licking froth from her lip. “This is fabulous. No wonder Di takes refuge in here.” She set the cup down and looked at Lane. “I can understand that your business comes first. It should. However—” she paused, giving Lane a sweet smile “—we just need a few extra pairs of hands. The parents are helping as much as they can, and Tyler is in charge of making the sets.”

      Lane’s gaze slid to his. “Volunteered or arm twisted?”

      “A little of both,” he said, lifting his cup and licking the froth off the top.

      Lane watched him, biting the inside of her mouth and wondering if he knew what she was thinking, feeling. One look in his eyes said, oh yeah. Every womanly instinct to outright flirt with this man screamed through her, telling her to get close enough to learn if that smiling mouth tasted as good as it looked. Another part of her brain was busy reminding her that she was alone for a reason. Another man had wanted something from her and hid it under the guise of friendship, then love.

      Now there was Tyler. And people wanted her to work with him?

      As if he knew her thoughts, his eyes darkened and seared her with a