Teresa Southwick - An Unexpected Partnership

“Okay. Show me.” She grabbed one of the chairs from a table to make room for a conversation with visual aids.

“You shouldn’t be lifting things.”

“Why not? I’m fine. Just pregnant—not an invalid.” She rested her hands on her hips. “If not me, who’s going to lift things?”

“Not while I’m around.” He set down his briefcase, then removed the other three chairs.

“Thanks.”

There he went being sweet again. That was twice in one morning. Tess didn’t trust sweet. It was easy to heft chairs and bring crackers, but a man like him couldn’t keep up sweet for long.

They sat and he pulled out his laptop, then set it on the table. He opened a file and then slid his chair closer to hers so they could view the screen together. He smelled good, disarmingly masculine. Some combination of soap and cologne that made her tummy flutter—with something besides nausea. It was attraction, damn him. That’s what had gotten her into this mess in the first place, and still fascination survived. There was something seriously wrong with her that she couldn’t shake this feeling.

“Okay. So, what am I looking at?”

“This is what the bar would look like with the two walls knocked out, making it one big room.”

Not ten minutes ago she’d been thinking how cozy and perfect the setup was with quiet dining and game rooms separated. “But what about the pool tables and dart boards? And some people like a peaceful corner for food and conversation.”

“A few customers might appreciate that. If they don’t like the change, there are quiet restaurants to take their business. That isn’t our core customer, not the clientele we want to attract.”

“We can’t afford to lose anyone.”

“We’ll more than make up for that with new business. Look at the way Nate has it drawn out. The tables are still there. And we’ll add an air-hockey table to the game area.”

“We will?” She shifted and their arms brushed. The touch made her hot all over but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Hockey is trendy.”

“Pool is classic.”

“We can do both. Open that customer-interest window wider.” He met her gaze and something intense flared in his when his knee grazed hers under the table.

Not unlike the way he’d looked at her the night it had happened. She swallowed and forced herself to look at the computer screen. She pointed to the opposite corner.

“What’s this?”

“We took some of the dining space for live music and dancing. On the weekends people want to de-stress.”

“You mean relax.”

“I mean let off steam. Loud music. Singing. Maybe karaoke. Watching games and yelling at their team or booing the opponent. Dancing. Contests. Promotions.”

He was so enthusiastic but she was looking at the end of an era and it made her sad. “Did my grandfather know about any of this?”

“I talked to him a little bit. Brainstormed as ideas popped into my head.”

“What did he say?”

“Pretty much what you are,” he admitted. “But he didn’t shoot anything down. He knew status quo wasn’t working.”

That was honest. He could have lied. Pat Morrow was gone and she’d never know what he thought. She couldn’t dispute that the current situation was less than successful, but she wasn’t ready to concede the point yet.

“Would you like some coffee?” It was a delaying tactic, giving her more time to think.

“Yeah. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“There’s a pot right here.” She needed to put some distance between them and was willing to risk the smell.

She went behind the bar and put water and grounds into the drip coffee maker, then hit the on switch. When there was nothing left to do but wait, she walked back to the table, careful to stand far enough away so that she couldn’t be distracted by his body heat and manly smell.

As if there’d been no pause, Leo started talking. “We need to put in TVs around the room to show football, baseball, hockey games. Make this the designated place to watch my former team.”

“Lend your celebrity name to bring in customers?” She meant women but kept that to herself.

“Yes. Anything that will get the word out there so people will give us a try.”

“I don’t know about this, Leo.” She frowned. Apparently he’d forgotten what she’d said about turning her grandfather’s legacy into a sports freak show.

“Look, Tess, I’m aware that this is an emotional time for you—”

“Hold the phone. Don’t make my hesitation about me being pregnant. I have a business degree with a minor in marketing.”

“That’s not what I meant. Your grandfather just died and this pub was his baby. He put everything he had into every corner. But he knew that change isn’t a bad thing. We can make it fresh and still keep his heart and soul. You just have to trust me.”

And there was the problem. He was too much like the guy who had broken her heart, which made trust in his judgment hard to come by. But that was personal. This was business and his lawyer had assured her he was good at it. Plus her grandfather had chosen him to invest.

While they’d debated, coffee brewed and the smell of it was everywhere. Or maybe it was her supersensitive nose due to pregnancy. Didn’t matter why, but the stronger the smell, the worse she felt. She fought back as long as possible but it was a losing battle.

“I’m—oh, God—I’m going to be sick.”

She put her hand over her mouth and raced upstairs for the privacy of her own bathroom. She made it—barely—and lost her breakfast. No way the perfect Leo Wallace was going to see her toss her cookies.

“Tess?”

Dear God, no. He followed her! “Go away.”

The next thing she knew, he was beside her, scooping her hair back from her face as she bent over the toilet. She’d be furious if she didn’t feel hot, sweaty and humiliated. He held her hair with one hand and rubbed her back with the other.

No, no, no. “Go away. Please,” she mumbled.

“Not happening.”

Her stomach was empty but she waited a few moments to make sure it was over. With a shaking hand, she pressed the handle to flush and then straightened up. After closing the lid, she stood and sat down on it, refusing to meet his gaze.

“I’m okay now. Really. You can go. I’ll meet you downstairs in a minute.”

Her eyes drifted shut, but she heard the sound of running water in the sink. A moment later he pressed a cool washcloth to her forehead and rubbed it across her neck. It felt so good she could cry. That might be about gratitude, or hormones, or both.

“Stay here. I’ll be back in a second.”

Before she could pull together the energy to say “don’t tell me what to do,” he was gone. Several moments later he was back with the box of crackers. He opened it and one of the four individual packs inside, then handed her a salty square.

“This will help.” He crouched in front of her so they were eye to eye. His were full of sweetness and sympathy.

“The last thing I want to do is eat,” she said weakly.

“I know, but you have to. This will settle your stomach.”

If she didn’t feel so crappy, she would have asked how he could be so sure. Instead she gave him a skeptical look. “If you’re wrong and I lose it again, will you promise to go away?”

“Cross my heart.”

“Do you have one?” She took a small bite of cracker, chewed and swallowed.

“There’s the snark I know and love. You must be feeling a little better.”

When there was no adverse reaction to the single nibble, she took another and waited. It went down easily. Even more surprising, she was suddenly hungry. “Can I have another one?”

He handed her the package. “Knock yourself out.”