Czytaj książkę: «Catching His Eye»

Chapter One

The Girlfriends’ Sixteenth Anniversary

Emily Proctor poured each of her girlfriends another frozen daiquiri. Midori daiquiris, to be precise. And, if one was getting picky about such things, they weren’t really just girlfriends, they were The Girlfriends. Sworn to be there for each other through thick and thin. Together by choice, forged by sixteen years of school and parents and boyfriends and…oh, just everything.

“I shouldn’t be drinking this,” Lily said, but only after she’d taken a really big swallow. “I have to take JT to soccer at eight in the morning.” She shuddered dramatically, making her impromptu ponytail wave back and forth. “The sitter can’t. She’s going to Dallas first thing tomorrow.”

“Why don’t you call Glen Cassidy…? He has to take Cody, so maybe he’ll pick up JT, too.”

Lily turned to Hope Francis. The polar opposite of Lily, Hope was five foot one to Lily’s five foot seven, and Hope had dark hair, almost black. It was trimmed in a dramatic sort of pageboy. Really angular, though. On her, it worked. She looked exotic, especially with her Winona Ryder eyes, made smoky by the liberal use of black kohl and powder. Not to mention the fire-engine red lipstick, which was mostly on the rim of her glass. The problem with Hope, at least in her own eyes, was that she looked about seventeen, and it drove her insane.

Lily smiled broadly as she uncurled her legs and got up off the couch to follow up on that excellent advice. “That’s why we keep you here, Hope. Because you’re beautiful and brilliant.”

Hope smiled demurely. Then she burped. Loudly.

Everyone cracked up as Emily crawled back on the hotel room bed and scrunched the pillow beneath her. It was so good to be together like this. All of them. Hope, Lily, Sam, Zoey and Julia. The Girlfriends.

They’d met in Mrs. Mann’s fifth-grade class, at Sheridan elementary school. They’d bonded over their outrage at Paul Morrison’s obnoxious game of pulling up their dresses on the playground.

Emily wondered for a moment what had happened to Paul. But that wasn’t important. What was important was that the six of them had come together like pieces of a puzzle. They’d all fit.

As she sipped her drink, Zoey turned the topic to her hair, as she did every year, complaining that it was too red, too curly, too hideous to be shown in public. It was utter nonsense, and the rest of the girls told her so. Every year.

“It’s wonderful hair,” Samantha said. “Very Nicole Kidman.”

Zoey sighed. “Yeah. Wouldn’t it be nice if I also had her body? And her face?”

Julia smiled wryly. “It would be even nicer if you had her husband.”

Zoey, who was sprawled in the chair across from the couch, turned to Julia. “Oh, really? You like him?”

“What’s not to like? That smile. Those eyes. That tight little behind…”

“He’s too short,” Lily said, coming back from her phone call to plop down on the couch again. “I like them tall. Tall and strong and kinda wiry.”

“No kidding?” Julia said, but Emily and everyone else in the room knew she was being sarcastic. Lily had always been specific about the man she was going to marry. Although she never admitted it, her perfect man was one Jesse Hyatt, who had been in high school with them. He’d never given Lily the time of day, unfortunately, but she still considered him the epitome of masculine perfection.

“I,” Lily said, sniffing her displeasure, “have certain standards, which some of you are sadly lacking.”

A great hue and cry came from the floor, the couch, the chair, the bed. Emily laughed. “Oh, please! This from a woman who got knocked up at age sixteen?”

“JT is the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Lily said, and from her tone, Emily realized she needed to back off. Most of the time Lily joked with the rest of them about her unorthodox family, but sometimes, like when she’d had a little too much to drink, she could get pretty defensive.

“Sorry, kiddo.” Emily stood up so she could get some cookies. They’d each brought food for the weekend, and as far as Emily could tell, there wasn’t one nutrient in the bunch. They’d concentrated on the three basic food groups: chocolate, chips and cream filling.

Julia snorted in a most unfeminine manner. “Maybe we’d believe you had this non Jesse Hyatt ideal if you’d actually go out on a date. I’ve got news for you. You can’t get your virginity back, no matter how long you hold out.”

“I’m not holding out,” Lily said. “I just haven’t met the right man yet.”

“At least you’re not alone,” Hope said with a sigh. “You’d think one of us would have found Mr. Right by now, wouldn’t you?”

Zoey nodded. “Or at the very least, Mr. Okay.”

Sam shook her head. “I know you’re kidding, Zoey. You must be. Finding a life partner is the most important decision in a woman’s life. It’s not to be taken lightly.”

Hope grinned at Emily. “Too bad Sam’s ideal man is too old for her. And he’s married.”

“Who might that be?” Sam asked, raising her perfectly arched eyebrows.

“Bob Villa, of course. Between the two of you, there wouldn’t be a single store-bought item in your house. You’d knit the couches, he’d build the stove. You’re perfect for each other.”

Sam sighed. “Just because I’m handy—”

“Handy? You out-Martha Stewart Martha Stewart.”

“Look who’s talking, Ms. Everything-Has-To-Match Hope.”

“Hey!” Emily put her hands on her hips, but instead of giving her friends the stern talking-to they deserved, she noticed that of all the women in the room, hers were the only hips that were large, economy-size. It was depressing.

Hope, Lily and Samantha were the perfect width for their height. Julia was too skinny, despite the fact that she ate like a little oinker, darn it. And Zoey was just plain voluptuous, even though she thought she was fat. She wasn’t. But Emily was.

Not life-threateningly fat, but she could lose a good twenty or twenty-five pounds. She should lose—

“Emily?” Hope said, interrupting her thoughts.

“Yes?”

“Weren’t you supposed to be yelling at us?”

“Oh, yeah. Stop it.”

The girls cracked up again, and things were the way they should be once more, only Emily had to force her smile. Couldn’t she go one blessed weekend without obsessing about her weight?

Of course not. Especially after the news she’d heard just this morning. She might as well tell them now. But first, she needed one more cookie before she sat down.

As Emily reached for the bag Lily poured herself another daiquiri.

“I suppose that means you don’t have to take JT tomorrow?” Zoey asked, eyeing the full glass of sweet, cold booze.

“Nope. I can get as toasted as I want.”

“Which isn’t going to be all that toasted,” Sam said. “There will be no throwing up tonight. We’re too old for that nonsense.”

“Yeah,” Hope agreed. “Hangovers have completely lost their charm.”

“I’ve got an announcement,” Emily said. But she must have said it very softly, because no one looked at her. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I’ve got an announcement!”

That quieted the room. All eyes were upon her, and she felt her face heat up. She hated blushing, but that was yet another thing she had no control over.

“Well?” Sam said.

“Scott Dillon is coming back to town.”

Silence.

A really long stretch of silence.

Hope looked at Sam. Lily looked at Julia. Zoey looked at Emily, then looked away.

“When?” Lily asked.

“Oh, um, tomorrow.”

“What!” shouted the chorus.

“I’m fine,” Emily assured them. “It’s no big deal.”

“My behind,” Zoey said, bounding to her feet. “Why did you wait so long to say anything?”

“I just found out.”

“In the last five seconds?”

“No. This morning.”

Zoey grabbed a small water bottle from the side table then settled her gaze on Emily. “What’s the story?”

“Kelly told me, since his father died, Scott’s mom is having a tough time running the store. So Scott’s coming home to help until they figure out what to do.”

“Kelly?” Hope turned to Lily. “Isn’t she Jeff Whaley’s girlfriend?”

“Yeah. She’s the one that got that boob job.”

Julia shook her head at the two gossips. “That’s not the main item on the agenda, ladies.”

The miscreants focused on Emily. She wished they’d go on talking about boob jobs. Scott Dillon wasn’t her favorite topic, outside of her daydreams, that is. But at least she didn’t have to go into any lengthy explanations. They all knew she’d been crazy about him since tenth grade. That he’d played Romeo to her Juliet in drama class, which turned the crush into mad, passionate love. And that he’d broken her heart when he’d taken Cathy Turner to the prom.

Her friends even had the decency not to mention that she’d never stood a chance with Scott. A gorgeous guy like him, football captain, president of the class, would never consider a girl like her in a romantic sense. That was not the way the world worked. She was the friend, the sounding board, the one who’d find out if the Cathy Turners of the world were interested in the Scott Dillons. But she’d never be the date. The love interest. Not with her chubby cheeks and her large economy-size hips.

“So, are you going to do something about it?” Zoey asked.

“Like what?”

“Like ask him out.”

Emily burst out laughing. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m not kidding. He’s always liked you, Emily. I mean he still calls you, right?”

“Once. He called once a hundred years ago. As a friend. Nothing more.”

“He’s older now. More mature.”

“And dating older, more mature supermodels. Not one chance in hell he’d ever go for me that way.”

“You don’t know that.”

Emily lifted her right brow.

Zoey’s shoulders sagged. “It could happen,” she said weakly.

“No, it couldn’t,” Emily said with a sigh. “But it sure would have been nice, huh?”

“What?”

“One night. One perfect night. Champagne, a full moon, music, flowers. I would have been happy with that, you know? With the memory.”

No one spoke for a moment and, just as startling, no one ate anything for a moment. Emily guessed they were all thinking of their own secret dreams. Those heartfelt wishes for things that could never be.

She’d be fine. She would. She was a champ at landing on her feet. “Okay,” she said, climbing off the bed again, more than ready to change the subject. “I say we all get into our jammies and start some serious gossip.”

“HUH?”

“Shh.”

Sam blinked, trying to make sense of what she was hearing. It was too dark to see, and what the—

“Come on,” Hope whispered. “And don’t make any noise.”

Sam threw back her covers and climbed out of the cot she’d won playing Rock, Paper, Scissors. It wasn’t the bed, but it wasn’t the floor, either. She followed Hope toward the bathroom, and when she saw that it was nearly four in the morning, she almost turned right around and went back to bed.

Hope anticipated the move, however, and grabbed her hand, pulling her toward whatever the heck was going on.

They reached the bathroom, and Hope shoved Sam inside, then Hope joined her. Once the door was closed, the light came on. Everyone was there. Except Emily.

Zoey had on her Bugs Bunny pajamas. Lily wore a nightshirt that advertised a Stephen King novel. Julia had on a cropped T-shirt that showed off her perfectly flat tummy and boxers that showed off her perfectly gorgeous legs. And Hope? She had on men’s pajamas. Both the top and bottom. Sam’s conservative white nightgown seemed hideously dull.

“Okay, so here’s what I propose,” Hope said, hopping up on the sink counter with far too much energy for four a.m. “I say we give Emily what she wants.”

“A good night’s sleep?” Zoey suggested.

Hope gave her a look. “No. One night with Scott Dillon. One perfect night.”

Sam’s mouth hung open, and she wasn’t alone in her bewilderment. All the girlfriends except Hope, of course, looked stunned.

“Are you nuts?” Lily asked.

Zoey nodded. “She’d kill us.”

Julia sat down on the commode seat. “What are we supposed to do? Hypnotize him into dating her? Buy him for her?”

Hope smiled. “I don’t think it will come to that. I think, if we do our jobs correctly, Scott Dillon will ask Emily Proctor out of his own accord.”

“And why would he,” Lily asked, “when he’s never been interested in her before?”

“Because we’re going to take our little Emily, and turn her into the sexiest, most gorgeous creature he’s ever laid eyes on. That’s why.”

No one spoke. Someone, Zoey probably, hiccuped. They exchanged glances. Finally Hope threw her arms into the air, accidentally sending Emily’s toothbrush flying into the bathtub. “Well? Are we or are we not The Girlfriends?”

“We are,” Zoey said.

“And do we or don’t we help one another?”

“We do,” Sam agreed. “But—”

“But nothing.” Hope leaned forward. “We can do this, guys. And you know what’s going to happen? Emily’s going to come away from this with so much self-confidence, with so much pride, that she’ll be able to get any man she wants. Scott Dillon, George Clooney. Whoever.”

“Little optimistic there, aren’t you, Hope?” Julia asked.

Hope nodded. “I’d agree if it was just me working on Emily. But it’s us. All of us. We can do this, guys. I just know we can.”

Julia waved her hand. “One more thing? What if Emily says no?”

Hope jumped down from the sink. “Then we’ll make her say yes.”

THE FOOTBALL TROPHIES WERE lined up in perfect symmetry, polished to a high sheen, exactly where they’d been nine years ago when he’d moved out of his parents’ home to go to Texas A&M.

Scott shifted his attention to the wall, to the pictures, the green and white flags, the display of Sheridan High memorabilia his parents had preserved like a shrine. They had been good days. Important days. But he’d moved on. At least, he’d tried.

He turned back to his open suitcase and started putting his clothes in the bureau, guilt eating a hole inside him. He didn’t want to be here. He was on the cusp, inches away from a dream career after years of disappointment. Destined, finally, to regain his former glory. But instead of preparing for an interview at ESPN, he was in his old bedroom, in his old town, in his old life.

It wasn’t fair. But, as Coach Teller always said, nothing’s fair except a fine spring day. Coach. At least Scott would get to visit him. That was a good thing.

He heard his mother in the hallway, her slippers scratching lightly on the hardwood floor. “Scott?”

“Yes, Mom?” He shut the top drawer, pasted on a smile and turned to face her. God, she’d gotten old. Old beyond her years. It was frightening.

He’d been born late in his folks’ lives, when his mother had been forty-one and his father forty-five. His mother had always had more energy than any two people he knew, but now she walked with a shuffle. It took her a long time to climb the stairs. She’d stopped coloring her hair, so it was white now, instead of the strawberry-blonde it had been forever. The vibrant part of her had gone, and he wanted more than anything else to help her get it back.

The decline had started when his father died. She’d loved the old man, and Scott had a feeling she wanted to join him. But she wouldn’t. Not while she had her son to care for.

“I’ve made cabbage rolls for dinner,” she said.

“Ah, Mom, you spoil me.”

She smiled, and the wrinkles around her eyes made it hard for him to keep his own grin in place. How could he leave her to fend for herself?

“Do you have everything you need?”

He nodded. “It’s just like it always was.”

“It’s home,” she said. “It’ll always be your home. You know that, don’t you?”

His mother hadn’t ever been a big woman, but she’d shrunk somehow over the years, so when he hugged her, the top of her head came only to his chin. He held her cautiously, afraid to squeeze too hard for fear she’d break. She’d lost too much weight. Her little arms went around his waist, and for a long moment, they rocked each other.

Scott knew without doubt that he was responsible for this woman, just as she’d been responsible for him for all his growing-up years. She wouldn’t sell the store, and she couldn’t run the store, so that left him.

Instead of being the newest ESPN sports commentator at the unheard-of age of twenty-six, he was going to be the manager of Dillon’s Market.

Nothing was fair except a fine spring day.

“ARE YOU INSANE?”

Hope shook her head. “Come on, Emily. You know you want to.”

“I do not!” She hopped off the bed and grabbed her clothes, anxious to get out of her nightgown and end this conversation.

“You do so,” Hope said, following her across the hotel room to the bathroom. “It’ll be a great adventure. And face it, girl, you need an adventure.”

“An adventure in humiliation? No, thank you.”

“Who said anything about humiliation?”

Emily couldn’t believe her friend was so dense. Actually, Hope was such a dreamer, it made sense she couldn’t see the downside of her little scheme. But Lily had both feet firmly on the ground. Sam had been the most practical person in Sheridan, and now that she’d moved, she was probably the most practical person in San Francisco, too. Zoey had some flights of fancy from time to time, but surely she could see this was a disaster waiting to happen.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Emily said. “And when I get out, I don’t want to discuss this again. Capiche?”

Hope opened her mouth, but Emily didn’t stick around to hear her argument. She went into the bathroom and locked the door behind her. Of all the nutty…

She put her fresh clothes on the counter, turned on the water in the shower, and then she blew it. She took off her nightgown and saw herself in the mirror.

Oh, God.

It wasn’t that she was hideous. It was that she was so plain. Nondescript brown hair. Eyes that were a dull shade of brown. Of course, the double chin did wonders for her face. The rest of her? Five feet four inches short and damn near one hundred and sixty. She wanted to cry.

Instead, she banished her own image from her memory and climbed into the shower. Washing occupied her mind for a while, but if she didn’t cool it she’d have no skin left. She stopped her feverish scrubbing and surrendered to the water. With closed eyes, she relaxed her shoulders, unclenched her hands.

They thought they could make her over. Transform her like Cinderella the night of the ball. But she knew better. She didn’t have what it took to be beautiful. Even if she lost all the weight and got new makeup and clothes, she’d still be plain old Emily Proctor. And Emily Proctor didn’t get to have Scott Dillon.

So why bother?

She held her breath for a moment, steadied herself with a hand on the cold wall. For the first time ever, she actually realized what she’d just said.

Why bother? If she couldn’t have Scott Dillon, why bother? Oh, God. She was the one who was insane, not her friends. What kind of a life choice was that? Wasn’t she worth bothering for? Just for being here? For being her?

No. The answer to that had been no her whole life. Because she couldn’t be as pretty as Julia, or as stylish and witty as Hope or as classy as Sam or as brilliant as Zoey, or as brave as Lily, she’d thrown in the towel on her own life.

Coward! That’s what she was. A big, yellow coward. Hiding out in the only place she’d ever lived, sneaking pieces of chocolate instead of feasting at the banquet of life.

She’d lost the game before it had begun.

So what if she’d never get Scott Dillon. If she didn’t do something about her life, she’d never be Emily Proctor. Not the Emily Proctor she was supposed to be.

At twenty-six, she had no idea who that was supposed to be. High school teacher? Yes, but that shouldn’t be all of who she was. Drama teacher? Again, that wasn’t enough. Friend. Yes. Yes, that one was very important. Daughter? Of course. But every definition she came up with was about something outside of herself.

Who was she? Right now, standing naked in the shower at the Sheridan Holiday Inn?

Tears welled only to be washed away, leaving no trace. Her fate would too, if she didn’t do something about it.

And the something closest at hand was as Hope put it, the Scott Dillon Diet, Exercise and Beauty Regimen. With emotional, physical and spiritual help from The Girlfriends.

It would mean no more French fries in the car. No more ice cream in the middle of the night. It would mean exercising, and sticking to it even when it was uncomfortable. She’d actually have to acknowledge her body, her lifestyle, her loneliness.

Something funny happened in her stomach. Fear, but not just fear. Excitement. That was it. She actually felt excited.

Maybe she couldn’t have Scott, but she could have a life. And maybe, if she learned to respect and love herself, she’d be ready to have someone else love her, too.

She turned off the shower and grabbed a towel from the rack. This was it. Her last chance to change her mind. If she told the gang she was in, they’d never let her alone about it. They were nothing if not persistent.

Stepping out onto the bath mat, she looked at the mirror, but all she saw was fog. Moving closer, she rubbed out a large clear circle. It was time to say goodbye. To all the old comforts. To the familiar pain.

She waved, and then the fog crept back and she wasn’t there anymore.