Shirley Jump - The Princess Test

Oh, my. Something in Carrie’s chest tightened and she had to force herself to focus on her job, not on him. “Welcome to By the Glass,” she said. “What can I help you find?”

He pointed toward the chalked sign in the window. “I’m looking for the princess.”

Carrie smiled. She put out her arms and figured if this guy was disappointed to find out she wasn’t a diamond-clad diva, that wasn’t her problem. “That would be me.”

He arched a brow. “You?”

“Yes.” She put out a hand. She’d gotten used to introducing herself as a princess in the past few days, but this time, she hesitated for a second before speaking the words. Because she wondered what this handsome man’s reaction would be? “I’m Carlita Santaro, third daughter of the king and queen of Uccelli. Which is where the grapes are harvested and the wines are bottled.”

He removed the sunglasses, revealing eyes so blue, they reminded her of the ocean edging her home country. When he shook her hand with a strong, firm grip, Carrie thought about what Faith had said about having a fling. This guy was everything a woman looking for a little adventure could want. Tall, dark, handsome and with a deep voice that seemed to tingle inside her. And best of all, no wedding ring on his left hand.

“I’m sorry, but I was expecting someone more … formal.”

She glanced down at the dark wash jeans and T-shirt she was wearing, her bright pink shirt sporting a logo for the store, and laughed. “Princesses don’t go around in long dresses and tiaras every day, you know.”

“True.” He released her hand, then fished in his breast pocket for a business card and handed it to her. “Daniel Reynolds. I work as a producer/reporter for Inside Scoop. I’d like to do a story on you and the shop.”

“A …” She stared at the card, then at the man. “A story? For the news?”

“Well, the show I produce isn’t news. Exactly.” He let out a little cough. “We like to call it ‘infotainment.’”

She shook her head. And here she’d actually been thinking of asking this man out. Clearly, her jerk radar was down, because this was just another vulture. “Paparazzi. Why am I not surprised?” She turned away from him, ignoring the business card. “Thanks, but no thanks.” She crossed to a short, older woman who had entered the shop while they were talking, and started telling her about the shop’s special on whites.

“I’m not a member of the paparazzi,” he said, coming up behind her.

“This Riesling is one of our top sellers,” Carrie said to the woman, ignoring him. He could spin it however he wanted, but she’d seen his type before. All they wanted was the scoop, another headline to blast across the airwaves. “If you like a sweeter wine, it’s a great choice.”

The woman tapped her lip, thinking. “I don’t know. My tastes run in the middle, between dry and sweet.” “Then let me suggest—” “This is the kind of story that could really put your shop on the map.”

“—this pinot grigio. A little drier than the Riesling but not as dry as the chardonnay you were considering.” She reached for the bottle, but before she could make contact, Daniel had inserted his business card into her hand. She wheeled around to face him. “I’m trying to do my job here.”

“And I’m trying to do mine.” He pressed the card against her palm. “Please at least consider my offer.”

“I don’t think so.” She took the card, tore it in half and let the pieces flutter to the floor. “I have no interest in anything you have to say to me. Not now, not ever. Go find someone else to torment.” Then she turned back to her customer, exhaling only when she heard the shop’s door close again.

A PINK blur came hurtling across the room and straight into Daniel’s arms. “Daddy!”

He laughed and picked up his daughter, cradling her to his chest. Deep, fierce love bloomed inside him and he tightened his embrace, inhaling the strawberry scent of Annabelle’s shampoo. There were days when he couldn’t believe this four-year-old miracle was actually his.

A sharp pain ran through him as he thought of Sarah, and all she was missing. In the year since Sarah had died, it seemed like Annabelle had grown and changed in a hundred different ways. And his wife, the woman who had taken to motherhood as if she’d been made only for that single purpose, hadn’t been here to see a single moment. Damn. Tears stung his eyes, but he blinked them back before Annabelle saw.

“Glad you’re here. That girl about wore me out. She’s a ball of energy. A cute ball.” Greta Reynolds, Daniel’s mother, reached out a hand and ruffled Annabelle’s hair. “We played hide-and-seek, built an entire city with Barbie dolls, baked a batch of chocolate chip cookies and wore the colors off the Candy Land board.”

Daniel hoisted Annabelle up a little higher. “Is that so?”

Annabelle nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“Sounds like a fun day.”

“It was. Now I have to get some dinner in the oven.” Greta gave Daniel’s shoulder a pat, then crossed to the kitchen counter where some chicken and a selection of vegetables waited to be assembled into something edible.

“Here, Daddy,” Annabelle said, grabbing her father’s hand and dragging him toward the kitchen table. “Come to my tea party.”

He bit back a groan. Another tea party. A plastic tea set had been set up on the round maple surface, and two of the four chairs were occupied by Boo-Boo, her stuffed bear and a large pink rabbit whose name Daniel couldn’t remember. Before he could say no, Annabelle had tugged him into a chair and climbed into the opposite one. He reached for a plastic cup, but Annabelle stopped him. “No, Daddy. You have to wear this.” She flung a fluffy bright pink scarf at him.

He gave it a dubious look. “I have to wear this?”

Annabelle thrust out her lower lip. “Daddy, it’s a tea party.” As if that explained everything.

He’d done business lunches in five-star restaurants. Interviewed visiting dignitaries. Attended fancy black-tie dinners. One would think he could sit through a tea party with his daughter without wanting to run for the hills. But every time it came to pretending, or being silly, Daniel’s sensible, logical side prevailed, and he became this stiff robot. He pushed the pink scarf to the side. “Uh, why don’t you just pour the tea, Belle?”

She feigned pouring liquid into the tiny cup. “Here, Daddy.”

He picked his up and tipped it to the side. “There’s no tea in it.”

“Daddy, you’re s’posed to pretend.” Annabelle let out another frustrated sigh. She picked up her cup, extended her pinkie and sipped at the invisible tea. “See?”

Annabelle’s disappointment in him as a tea party attendee was clear in her tone and her face. He’d let his daughter down, the one thing he didn’t want to do. But he felt out of his depth, as lost as a man in the desert without a compass, and every time he tried to correct his course, he seemed to make it worse. Hadn’t that been a constant refrain from Sarah? He was never there, never around to bond, and now his absences were biting him back. “I’m sorry, honey. I’m just not very good at tea parties.”

“No, you’re not,” Annabelle mumbled, and turned to her bear, tipping the cup toward his sewn-on mouth.

It had been easier interviewing the president of the United States than sitting here, pretending to drink tea. When it became clear that Annabelle wasn’t going to invite him back to the party, Daniel got to his feet. A sense of defeat filled him. “Uh, I think Grandma needs me.”

Daniel crossed to the counter, picked up a loaf of bread and began slicing it. A second later, he felt his mother’s hand on his shoulder.