How To Succeed At Love. Susan Connell

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      “I thought we agreed that you were going to stay up here until I came to get you. I don’t appreciate you wandering around my house,” she said, crossing the room to where he blocked the doorway.

      “After I made some phone calls to let people know where I’d be, things got pretty boring. By the way, I’m short on hangers in my closet. Think you could lend me some?”

      “You don’t need hangers because you’re not staying.”

      “Why not? We were doing so well.”

      “You were doing so well, but I’m not like you. I dislike taking advantage of people. I hate lying. And I especially hate lying to people I love. I’m going down there now,” she said, turning sideways to shimmy past him. She hurried toward the stairs then paused at the top step to turn and face him again. “I’m going to tell them all about this ridiculous mistake I’ve made,” she said, grasping the rail. “Then Neal will drive you into town and we can put all of this behind us.”

      Spencer slowly shook his head.

      “What?”

      “It’s not a good time for that.”

      “It’s as good a time as any because sooner or later they’ll have to know that I’ve been...” She’d almost said fired. What got into her every time she spoke to this man? His easygoing, confident manner pulled the truth right out of her. If she didn’t watch herself, she’d be blurting out the whole, tawdry story of how she’d lost her job.

      “Don’t stop now. Let it out,” he said, joining her at the top of the curved staircase.

      “Okay. Dumped. I’ve been dumped by my boyfriend.” Just before he emptied my bank account and “borrowed” my car. She stared hard, daring him to smile. “Are you happy now?” Spencer looked disappointed. But not for long.

      “Mildly perplexed. Look, I could be wrong, but I don’t think you’ll be bringing any of this up tonight.”

      “Well, I’m not interested in what you think. This is a personal matter,” she said, continuing down the stairs. “I made two mistakes. I allowed myself to panic. And I involved you. I’m not making a third one by keeping this charade going any longer.”

      He followed her across the tiled foyer toward a set of oak doors. “What charade are you talking about?”

      For a scary moment, she had the feeling he was referring to her firing. But he couldn’t know that because nobody knew yet except Sylvia Bloomfield and her. They’d both agreed that the announcement would be quietly made after the holidays.

      She closed her hand over the shiny brass door lever. “Don’t be cute. All you have to concern yourself with is that you’re getting the meal I promised you, eating it quickly and getting back upstairs to repack. You’re leaving here tonight. It’s a done deal, Spence.”

      His growing smile sent a shiver of suspicion through her.

      “Did you ever notice that things are never as simple as they seem?” he asked, sauntering toward her.

      “As far as you’re concerned, they are.”

      “What’s your big hurry?”

      “Look. All along I’ve planned to spend a quiet holiday with my family. Alone. Without strangers.”

      “Flexibility is a highly underrated virtue.”

      She narrowed her eyes as he wrapped his hand around the brass lever next to hers and smiled. What was he up to now? They pushed opened the double doors.

      From all parts of the room came a rousing chorus of “Surprise!”

      Three

      Twelve hours, too many half-truths and one champagne hangover later, Jade walked into the Chocolate Chip Café. Mouthwatering aromas of gourmet coffees and homemade desserts were mixing with the snow-scented air that blew in with her.

      Smiling to herself, she closed the door then looked around her old high school hangout, now a successful college coffee-and-dessert bar owned by a former classmate. Behind the counter, Megan Sloan managed to return her wave between twisting knobs and flipping levers on the cappuccino machine. The whooshing sounds added to the background hum of conversation in the sun-filled room. Her friend had made several changes to the place yet managed to retain the fun feeling that still made it one of Jade’s favorite places in Follett River.

      As she shrugged out of her coat, the bell above the door jingled, signaling someone else’s arrival. She looked over her shoulder at a smiling Spencer.

      “No dents,” he said, referring to the car he’d just parked.

      “Considering the way you drive,” she murmured, “that could start me believing in Christmas miracles.”

      But she wasn’t thinking about Christmas or miracles. She was reminiscing about the old days when the place reeked of greasy burgers, industrial-strength hair spray and teen spirit. Behind her, Spencer was stomping snow from his shoes and unzipping his bomber jacket. Surprisingly, his sounds were blending with her cherished memories. The nostalgic moment wrapped itself around her heart, making her smile.

      For about two seconds.

      Suddenly Spencer opened his arms, closed his eyes and pulled in a deep, noisy breath. The grand movement jolted her out of her memories and back to reality.

      “Ahh. I love the smell of cappuccino in the morning.”

      His dramatic delivery sent four nearby coeds into a table huddle and a frantic flurry of whispers.

      Jade winced. She had yet to go anywhere with Spencer that he didn’t attract attention. She turned to give him a disapproving look but ended up tapping her toe on the floor. With his eyes still closed, she could only stare and wait for him to open them.

      Several seconds later she was still staring. From his sybaritic smile to the snug fit of his jeans, there was no way any female in a hundred-yard radius could not stare. He was a startlingly handsome man.

      Casually brushing at her bangs, she managed a peek toward the coeds. With the thumbs-up and appreciative smiles they were sending her way, the girls appeared to be in wholehearted agreement.

      She responded with a weak smile then turned around to face Spencer. “When you’re done emoting, you can hang up my coat,” she said, shoving it against the solid wall of his chest.

      She reached around him to shut the door but he was faster. His move brought his face inches away from hers.

      “Are you still mad at your mother because she insisted I drive her car?” he asked, his fingers covering hers in a warm caress.

      “I’m not mad at my mother. Unlike you, I know exactly what she’s up to.”

      He tilted his head. “And what’s that?”

      “I’ll give you a hint. Last time I brought someone home, she tried to throw us a surprise wedding.”

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