Toronto Collection Volume 3 (Toronto Series #10-13) Read online

  Slippers would help me be even more warm and fuzzy. My hardwood floors were chilly, especially in the winter, and going barefoot in my place really wasn't an option. Now I'd have easy slipper access in every room, and since they weren't amazing I wouldn't feel bad if Paddington wrecked them.

  I carted my haul back to Larissa. "What have you found?"

  "Just the necklace."

  "Really?" I reached out and tapped a pair of silver earrings, long and sleek and absolutely her style. "I was sure you'd fall for these guys."

  She shrugged. "They're pretty but I already have a pair almost the same. So they won't make much of a difference to my life." She turned away from the jewelry rack and looked at the basket I carried. "You did well, I see."

  For a moment I didn't want to show her, but then my usual pride in my finds took over and I held up each pair of slippers in turn. "Should keep me nice and warm."

  As I tucked the last pair back into the basket, she said softly, "You love them? All of them?"

  I looked up, startled once again by the bleak pain in her voice that kept resurfacing at odd times. "Well, no. But they're good enough. They'll keep the chill off my feet. And only twelve bucks for all of them."

  She cleared her throat and said much more cheerfully, "Good deal."

  "Yep. Good." This had to count as being good to myself, didn't it? Getting so many things, and at a discount?

  Chapter Fifteen

  "Taking a late lunch?"

  I looked up, disappointed that I hadn't managed to sneak out of the office as I'd intended. "I ate at my desk, and now I'm going to try out that manicure place everyone's been raving about."

  "The one with the hot guys doing the nails? Well, have fun." Felix winked at me. "Not too much, though. I assume you're getting all gussied up for your date tonight?"

  I waved my fingers at him, showing the nails I'd painted myself just last night. "They're already gussied enough, but this was the only time I could get an appointment for the next month, and I want to discuss it on my site."

  "I'm onto you, my friend," he said, his eyes locking to mine and the heat in them making 'friend' sound like 'lover'. "You just want to flirt with the guys. No idea why, since you could just stay here and flirt with me." He winked again then added, "Hurry back, I'll miss you," in a mock gushing tone.

  I rolled my eyes and left, but not before he called after me, "And get Percy some chicken soup or something. We need him here."

  I pretended not to hear and kept going, but my anticipation for the manicure that everyone on my site was calling the most enjoyable one they'd ever had was tainted by worries. Percy had never been sick in college that I could remember, but he had pretended to be sick on a number of occasions. Was he doing the same thing now, and if so, why?

  No. He'd been so excited about getting the job, I couldn't believe he was trying to hide from it. There was a nasty cold going around so he probably was sick. If he wasn't back tomorrow I'd start looking into it, but for now I wanted to savor my manicure.

  From the moment I walked into the hushed salon I understood why all the commenters on my site had said they felt like a goddess at the place. The receptionist, a stunningly attractive guy, smiled at me like he'd been waiting for me his entire life, and so did every other guy who passed through the lushly furnished and dimly lit waiting room. The owner had obviously figured out the secret of business success: make women feel special. And let them look at hot men while you're at it.

  After three women from the packed waiting room were led away by three gorgeous guys, one of the sexiest men I'd ever seen approached and murmured, "Lydia?"

  I stood and looked up into his green eyes and waited for the shudder of desire such a guy would have to provoke in me. It didn't arrive. "That's me."

  "I'm Antonio. Are you ready?"

  Confused by my lack of response, I said, "Sure."

  He led me to a small private room and settled me onto a wide soft bed with a plush back rest so I could lounge while he worked, then offered me a drink. I accepted some water, and couldn't stop myself watching his sexy back view as he left and then the equally sexy front view when he returned with the glass. If I'd ordered him from a catalogue, he couldn't have been more the kind of guy I liked.

  He gave me a gentle hand massage first, then began removing my nail polish while asking me all about myself, and as I answered his questions and watched his strong masculine hands working on mine I found myself experiencing an unusual feeling.

  Lack of interest in a sexy guy.

  He was very good with his hands, gentle but firm, and I did wonder whether any clients got more than a manicure on that soft bed, but though he was friendly and flirty and giving me sexy looks I couldn't have been any less attracted to a female manicurist.

  Eventually he backed off on the seducing, apparently realizing it wasn't having the usual effect, and did the rest of my manicure in silence. Without the flirtation, it wasn't much different from an ordinary manicure, and I realized yet again that I just didn't much like manicures.

  I loved having neat and elegantly polished nails, but I actually preferred doing them myself. Having someone else slaving over my hands felt uncomfortable to me. Same with a pedicure. I knew lots of people enjoyed being pampered like that, but I felt more pampered by not having to put on mascara every morning now that my eyelashes had been darkened. Strange, but true. What I did like, though, was the peaceful silence in the apparently soundproof room. I didn't have to do anything but relax and let the quietness soak into me, and I loved it.

  When the manicure was finished and I'd spent a few minutes with my hands beneath a dryer while Antonio cleaned up, he said, "Well, I hope that was okay. I usually chat more but it seemed like you didn't want me to."

  I smiled at him. "You're so right. I don't get much quiet and this was great." I held out my hands in front of me and stared at my freshly red-lacquered nails. "These are great too. Thank you."

  I paid, and tipped him well since he still seemed worried I hadn't had a good time. No doubt every other client was drooling all over him and he didn't know what to make of me.

  As I made my way back to work I wasn't quite sure what to make of myself. I'd always wanted to be the kind of woman who had lots of manicures and now I'd had two in as many weeks and I hadn't cared much for either of them. Out of a whole spa day, my favorite part had been the simple tinting of my eyelashes, not the massage or the facial or the pedicure. And I'd just spent an hour in a tiny room with a bona fide sexy guy, who'd made a point of letting me know he was single early on in a way I'd recognized as an offer, and I hadn't had any reaction to him. Most unusual, and a little alarming too.

  But not as alarming as the crisis I walked into at the office.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sasha sat at her desk, sobbing, with several of the forum managers standing around looking helpless. Patricia and Felix were nowhere to be seen, and of course neither was Percy.

  I didn't want to get involved but how could I not?

  "What's wrong?"

  Sasha looked up, her eyes wild in her tear-drenched face. "Damian broke his arm at recess."

  I tried not to flinch. I hated that her kid was named Damian. Different spelling, but whenever she talked about him it made me think about my Damien, the Damien that used to be mine, and I didn't need the reminder. "I'm sorry. Is he at the hospital now?"

  One of the forum managers gave me a 'don't go there' look, but it was too late.

  "No, he's not," Sasha said, her words tumbling out faster and her voice getting higher as she went, "because he's still at school because I don't know what to do. If I go get him and take him there, we'll be there for hours so what do I do with Daisy? The babysitter can't keep her past five."

  I could see that having a little kid, especially one as inquisitive as Daisy had been the last time Sasha brought her into the office, in the hospital for hours would be difficult. "What about Daniel?" Wasn't this sort of thing the whole point of having a hus
band?

  "He's in California on business. Won't be back until Saturday. And my parents are in Europe and his are in Florida and I've called everyone I can think of and they can't help and..."

  She dissolved completely, dropping her head to her desk and giving up any attempt at controlling the tears.

  I felt sick.

  Sick because I knew I could help but the idea of hours with a strange kid, not that any of them were that normal from what I'd seen, terrified me. What would I do with her?

  Sick too because I actually wanted to do it. If I ever adopted a child I'd hope people would help me. One evening out of my life wouldn't--

  The date with Calvin. I'd been excited about it, and hopefully he had too.

  Well, rescheduling it wouldn't be anywhere near as hard as corralling Daisy in the hospital would be for Sasha.

  I took a deep breath. "What if I stay with Daisy at your place?"

  She snapped her head up, and for a moment I was afraid she'd laugh and say I'd be the last person she'd trust with her daughter. We weren't exactly the best of friends, although we did get along better than I got along with Patricia. Not that that was saying much.

  She didn't laugh though. She stared at me and said, "You'd do that? Really?"

  "If you think I can handle it."

  "Definitely you can. Daisy's good. She'll just want to show you all her toys and play house and read books and-- shut up, Sasha, you're rambling. Lydia, would you really? It would help so much."

  I was having significant second thoughts but I couldn't back out now. "Then let's go."

  "I'll just call the school and Daisy's babysitter and then we can head out."

  While she did that, I sent a text message explaining the situation to Calvin since I wasn't sure whether I should be calling him at work. With any luck he'd understand, and if he didn't then he wasn't worth my time.

  Sasha finished making arrangements and said, "Okay. We'll go get Daisy and take you two home then I'll get Damian and take him to the hospital. You're a lifesaver, Lydia, thank you so much."

  We headed out as Felix and Patricia came back into the office.

  "What's up?" Felix had clearly noticed Sasha's tear-damaged makeup.

  "Ask them," she said, jerking her head back toward the forum managers. "We have to go."

  I gave him an apologetic smile and we were gone before he could say anything else.

  As we climbed into Sasha's huge SUV I got a text message from Calvin.

  Nice of you to help. My son broke his arm last year. Total nightmare. Friday night instead for us, same time and place?

  I settled into the lushly padded passenger seat and did up my seatbelt so Sasha could drive off, then wrote back that Friday would be great. He responded quickly, saying he'd change our reservation and was looking forward to seeing me, and I told him I felt the same.

  Fortunately Calvin didn't seem offended, and I'd still get to see him.

  So now the only issue was whether I'd survive an evening with a four-year-old.

  *****

  Left alone, Daisy and I eyed each other suspiciously.

  After giving me a whirlwind tour of the house, which was huge and immaculate, Sasha had told me I could eat and feed Daisy anything we wanted from the freezer then gave her daughter a hug and took off to fetch Damian. Daisy had looked about to cry at being left with a stranger, but I'd quickly offered to show her what was in the freezer and once she'd picked chicken nuggets for her dinner she'd seemed to calm down. It was too early to start cooking them, though, and neither of us seemed to know what to do next.

  Figuring as the adult I should probably take the lead, I said, "Do you want to show me your toys?"

  Did she ever. We spent the next hour going through her toy collection, complete with rambling 'stories' that had no particular point about nearly every piece. At first I tried to encourage her to finish the stories since I had no idea what she was on about, but I soon realized she didn't know what she was on about either so I just let her talk and nodded and smiled when it seemed appropriate.

  She was cute with her long blonde hair in two ponytails and her big blue eyes intent on my face as she babbled, and I thought Sasha was right that she was a good kid. Not much of a storyteller, but a good kid.

  If I had a kid, adopted or otherwise, would mine be as good? No way to know at the moment, but in her presence I found myself yearning to find out.

  When I heard her little stomach growling, I said, "Should we go make dinner?"

  She looked up from the doll she was attempting to stuff into a dress. "Daddy here too?"

  "Sorry, but no. Just me for a little while."

  "Mommy? Damian?"

  I shook my head. "Just you and me and the chicken nuggets."

  The nuggets again pushed her away from the edge of sadness. I had a feeling Sasha almost never allowed them, and I hoped she wouldn't be upset that I was letting Daisy indulge.

  We went downstairs, each carrying a doll because she'd insisted they needed to come for dinner, and she sat on a kitchen stool swinging her legs and chattering away while I preheated the oven and set the table then put the nuggets for her and a single-serving lasagna for me in to heat up.

  "Damian hurt?"

  I turned to her. Sasha had told her briefly before leaving, so I didn't feel bad saying, "Yes, he is. His arm's broken. But he'll be okay. People are taking care of him and they'll be nice to him so he feels better."

  "Broken?"

  I nodded, then wondered if she knew what broken meant. "Hurt on the inside."

  She looked down at her doll, then took its soft fabric arm in both hands and gave it a sharp twist, nearly a full circle. "Dolly's arm broken too? Be nice to Dolly?"

  She sounded so hopeful, and though the whole thing creeped me out I had to laugh. "Dolly doesn't have bones. But I bet that hurt." I patted Dolly on the head. "Yes, we should be nice to her."

  "Damian's arm hurts. People being nice."

  "Yes, they are," I said, then realized she still sounded hopeful and was now looking at her own arm. Oh, geez. What had I done? "But it's not fun, you know. He's going to be sore for a long time. Nobody wants to break their arm."

  She stared at her arm for another moment then looked up. "Hurts a lot?"

  "A whole lot," I said, bringing up my memories of my own broken arm in elementary school to put extra force behind my words. "You're lucky yours isn't broken. It's a really big ouchie."

  She considered this, and I could almost see the gears moving in her little blonde head. Pain and attention, or no pain and less attention? "Don't like ouchies," she eventually said.

  "No, you don't. Nobody does. Okay? No more breaking any arms."

  She patted Dolly on the head. "Sorry."

  Vowing not to let her out of my sight in case she changed her mind and tried to hurt herself for a little sympathy, I said, "So, want to read a book while we wait for dinner?"

  She raced off, and I chased after her, but when I caught up all she'd done was grab at least ten books from her shelf. "These. All."

  I smiled. Why were little girls so good at saying exactly what they wanted and going after it and then so bad at it when they became women? "You got it."

  Greetings! A quick message from my phone because I'm busy babysitting. Yes, me. A coworker needed a favor and so far both me and my charge are holding up well.

  But my oh my, is this little girl good at saying what she wants! Demanding it, really. And she expects to get it. She's clear and focused and determined and it works.

  Today's our career-focused day, but I think this applies everywhere, so take a minute to channel your inner four-year-old:

  What do you want? Do you expect to get it? How can you go out there and tell the world that you will get it? How can you convince yourself?

  Let us know how it goes! But please, no temper tantrums in the comments, okay?

  Chapter Seventeen

  We read every one of those books before and during and after dinner, the
n I suggested we watch some TV because I didn't think I could handle reading another princess story without screaming, "There's never a happy ending like this!"

  When she picked a princess movie, I couldn't face it so I had to lie and tell her I didn't know how to work the DVD player. She accepted this, but I felt bad until as we browsed the TV channels she spotted a cartoon show and shrieked with delight. Since she knew all the characters I figured this was an acceptable choice so I let her watch, and she cheered and followed all the instructions of the characters to stand up and sit down and clap her hands and I watched and hoped this would be the only airing of this show tonight. Hardly relaxing sitting next to a wired-up kid.

  When the cartoon finished, the next show was all about race cars and she quickly lost interest, so I began scanning the channels again. I paused at the just-begun hockey game, wishing I could watch it but knowing it wasn't exactly kid fare, then looked at Daisy in surprise when she said, "Yeah! Hockey!"

  "You like hockey?"

  "Daddy likes it. Damian too." She leaned back against the couch and to my amusement slid one hand into the waistband of her pants. "Gotta watch this way."

  I highly doubted Sasha approved of her husband's hockey watching style, but if it meant I could watch the game I didn't much mind.

  We sat in silence staring at the screen for about ten minutes, each with a hand carefully tucked beneath our waistbands, until my phone signaled a text.

  Still here. Still haven't been seen. They're saying two-three hours. If Daisy gets tired, put her to bed. Thank you again. I owe you huge.

  I stared at the phone. Yes, she did owe me. I didn't have any idea how to get a child ready for bed. Hopefully Daisy herself knew. If not, she'd be passed out on the couch with her hand down her pants when her mom got home.